The ocean was turquoise. The tacos were endless. Paradise was perfect. Yet all I could think about was tomorrow. Sometimes the dreams you’ve prayed for have a way of exposing what you really believe about yourself.

Some places never really leave you. For me, it was a little East Dallas dive bar, a yellow school bus, and a table reserved for the regulars. Back Booth is a tribute to belonging, community, and the people who keep showing up.

Growing up is learning what opportunities to say "no" to. This week, that meant walking away from a lucrative offer, embracing the uncertainty of building Brolo, and realizing that regret is far scarier than failure.

I knew a lot of people, but I wasn't truly known by anyone. That realization changed everything. What followed was addiction, recovery, reinvention, and another chance to choose the life we wanted to build.

Everyone wants to know the factory, binder, and filler. We get it. But we believe great cigars are remembered for the moments they create, not the spec sheets behind them. Here's why we're choosing experience over credentials.

I grew up around church culture, preacher’s kids, fireworks, bad decisions, addiction, and grace. Somewhere along the way, all of it found its way into a cigar called Confessional.

We believe great cigars shouldn’t need coattails or credentials to matter. That’s why we don’t share which factory produces our cigars. Which is what everyone told us not to do…but here we are.

What makes a cigar you can come back to….again and again in the same night? For me, that answer was forged on a porch, in recovery, surrounded by brotherhood and hard conversations. Porchlight isn’t just a blend, it’s an homage to the place where connection took root.

At PCA, surrounded by some of the biggest names in cigars, I expected the moments I’d remember most to be the ones I captured. Turns out, it was the ones I didn’t. This is about building something real, staying present, and learning when to put the camera down and just live in it.

Ahead of PCA, I was so nervous. As a novice cigar smoker (let’s be honest, only because we’re starting the business), I felt an immense amount of imposter syndrome begin to settle into my spirit. Over dinner a few days before I said to Joshua, “I don’t want to be seen as a fraud… I don’t know anything about blends or tasting notes and I always forget the order of viso vs. ligero. What business do I have in this industry?” 

We don’t just consume content anymore… it consumes us. The question is…who are you becoming because of it?

Less discounts. More connection. We’re doubling down on lounges, community, and the culture that built this thing.

You don’t find your rhythm before you start; you find it because you start. The problem is, most people never get out of the audience long enough to try.

In 1997, I thought baggy jeans, bleached hair, and blasting Korn made me cool. Nobody else agreed. But looking back, I see something different…someone who didn’t wait for permission to be himself.

High in the Guadalupe Mountains, with darkness closing in and 40-mph winds pushing against a narrow ridge, one of our brothers could no longer walk. What followed wasn’t heroic in the traditional sense…just men quietly carrying more weight so another could keep climbing. A reflection on hardship, Stoicism, and the kind of brotherhood that only reveals itself on the hard miles.

Five years. One empty desk. A friendship forged in folding chairs and cigar smoke. Here’s what I learned about endings, seasons, and why the ride is always the point.

A care package from Louisiana showed up on my doorstep with a handwritten note that stopped me in my tracks. Inside were cigars… but what I really received was something deeper…proof that connection can travel across state lines, across loss, and across shared struggles. This isn’t a recovery story, it’s a cigar story. One about brotherhood, belonging, and why Brolo exists in the first place.

Another mile down. The road stretches west while doubt rides shotgun. The butterflies are loud, the future uncertain…but this isn’t fear, it’s motion. Out West is about standing at the edge of something new, lighting up anyway, and choosing to lean in when the horizon feels far away.

What started as a regular HERF turned into something rare: people from around the world, bundled up and battling the cold, using cigars as common ground to talk about life, loss, faith, failure, and purpose. A reminder that sometimes warmth has nothing to do with temperature.