The Slow Burn: The Things We love

2:20 AM.

Beneath a Nicaraguan moon, hidden behind a mosquito net, tree frogs wage war against my sleep. Their calls echo through the jungle like ladies of the night working a truck stop, each one louder than the last. Halloween Moon Crabs scatter across the ground beneath our cabana. I have to pee...but I'm not getting out of bed. Nature can have this one.

Kaitlyn is asleep beside me.

I'm wide awake.

Not because of the frogs...

But because of a dream.

Earlier that evening, we had dinner in San Juan del Sur beneath the famous Christ statue overlooking the bay. An onsite Sushi Chef, limited-edition small-batch cigars, and one of those conversations that reminds you why slowing down matters.

We talked about cigars, sure. But mostly we talked about life. Family. Business. Failure. Why people chase impossible things. Somewhere between sushi and cigars, the conversation quit feeling like networking and started feeling like old friends catching up after years apart.

The day itself felt surreal.

We began in the jungle outside San Juan del Sur and somehow ended the evening laughing in our factory owner's home like we'd known each other for decades. They didn't invite us to the factory first. They didn't suggest coffee or lunch at a restaurant.

They invited us into their home.

Hospitality is becoming a forgotten art.

Yet here were people who barely knew us, opening their doors to two Texans who weren't born into the cigar industry and certainly weren't plugged into its inner circles.

I could probably come up with a dozen reasons they decided to take a chance on us...

But the truth is...

I don't really know.

And at the end of the day...

It doesn't matter.

What matters is this:

We had a dream. We pursued it. We sacrificed. We took chances.

And somehow, here we are.

"So Joshua," you're probably asking, "what does any of this have to do with tree frogs?"

Fair question.

Because this story isn't really about dinner.

It's about the dream that woke me up afterward.

If you're a child of the '80s, you've probably seen Star Wars. More specifically, you probably remember the Ewoks. Small, furry bipeds that somehow helped overthrow the Empire through grit, cleverness, and an unhealthy amount of logs swinging from trees.

In my dream, there was only one.

A single Ewok wearing a hood.

Its eyes glowed red.

I found myself standing in what looked like an abandoned house. Not scary exactly...just empty. Like one of those forgotten places where time stopped years ago.

The Ewok looked at me.

I looked back.

Oddly enough...I wasn't afraid.

I actually felt compassion.

It slowly walked toward me and wrapped its arms around me like an old friend. I embraced it right back.

Then...

Without warning...

It quietly pulled a blade and began stabbing me in my kidneys and sides.

Again.

And again.

And again.

I never pulled away.

Despite the pain, I held the embrace.

Blood filled my mouth. I began coughing it up, yet I wasn't dying.

As strange as it sounds, one thought echoed through my mind:

The things I love might be trying to kill me.

I haven't stopped thinking about that dream.

Was it about addiction?

Complacency?

Success?

Betrayal?

Spiritual warfare?

Or was it simply thirty pieces of Nicaraguan sushi mixed with demon tree frogs singing me lullabies?

Honestly...

I don't know.

But I do know this.

Every meaningful thing I've ever pursued has come with resistance.

Sobriety did.

Marriage did.

Building WP did.

And Brolo certainly has.

Somewhere along the way, I started believing that if we were walking in the right direction, it would eventually feel easier.

Maybe that's never been true.

Maybe the path toward purpose always runs through uncertainty.

Maybe the dream wasn't warning me to turn around.

Maybe it was reminding me to pay attention.

To hold my dreams loosely.

To love people without idolizing them.

To celebrate success without worshipping it.

To remember that even good things can become dangerous when they begin occupying the place reserved for the One who gave them to us.

I still don't know what that dream meant.

Maybe I never will.

But as the first light broke through the jungle canopy and the frogs finally surrendered to the morning, one thing became clear.

We're still all in.

The dream hasn't changed.

If anything, it reminded me why we're chasing it in the first place.

Not because building a cigar company is easy.

Not because success is guaranteed.

But because some dreams are worth pursuing, even when they leave you with more questions than answers.

Sometimes you don't get clarity before taking the next step.

Sometimes you simply get the opportunity to keep walking.

So that's what we'll do.

One step at a time.

One cigar at a time.

One conversation at a time.