Times have changed. I’ve fought it, and mostly lost.

I am afflicted with a resilience and steadiness that throws most people off. But it comes with a downside. I have ideals that I chase, doggedly believing I’m going to change the world. And the world largely ignores me. Inside, I feel calm and uncompromising until I don’t. Then a figurative storm erupts inside and the acid rain of crushed hope pours down, washing away my dreams until I resign to no longer care. Because sometimes I feel like not many people in the world do care. And sometimes I wish I didn’t.

Yesterday was one of those days. It was all over my face, because I wear my heart on my sleeves. I was a bear, impossible to mollify. I barked and snarled and growled. I looked around for problems I knew I couldn’t untangle. I thought about issues I’ve tried to fix for years with no success. I resolved that I’d stop giving a damn, stop noticing, stop expecting. But the problem is, as a like-minded friend put it, I have high standards and I expect a lot out of myself and others. That’s a problem because I can’t just salve my discouragement by lowering my expectations of those around me; it would require lowering the expectations I have for myself as well.

I don’t have to lower my personal expectations because when it comes to getting shit done, I’m a machine. I could probably out-work my dad, which is no small conjecture. I learn fast and adapt and use tools I’ve developed over the years to ensure I’m doing my best work most of the time. I do not care what it takes to get something done, I will do it. My mantra has long been: “You can’t beat me.” Don’t even try.

So that leaves me in a quandary. I try to give people the tools to achieve excellence, but they don’t like my tools, don’t use my tools. I try to show people a better way, but people don’t want a better way. I remember when I was alive in Boulder Colorado, I looked around at the opportunity to give that community better coffee. They had decent coffee at places like Brewing Market and Peaberry Coffee. But Boulderites preferred the swill served at Trident over on Pearl instead. I knew I could make coffee that was better than anything ever brewed in that town, but eventually I realized Boulder didn’t want better coffee.

And sometimes I wonder that about Tulsa, a less-inspiring place to drink coffee - and maybe that’s precisely the reason we should be drinking better coffee. We don’t have mountains outside our windows to distract our attention. We don’t have world-class athletes rolling in on bicycles to meet up for a cappuccino. (We do, but even the athletes in Oklahoma have to leave in order for us to acknowledge their accomplishments.) We don’t have “cool” to obscure a lack of “good.”

A lot of people come to DoubleShot. Not every day. But the number of people who have been to DoubleShot must be in the hundreds of thousands, if not in seven figures. And in the early days a lot of those people came because the coffee was good, yes, but also because there was something in the air. Not just my air, but all those tall guys wearing tight black t-shirts brought something special too. Most of them came from a conservative Christian upbringing, like me, and I suspect they appreciated being in an environment with passion (a word derived from the suffering of Christ), rules and high standards.

Passion comes from the same Latin root as patience: an attribute my mother warned me not to pray for because God might grant that trait through long-suffering and adversity. But I didn’t need God to pepper my life with tribulation; if there is a path of least resistance, I choose the other. It’s one of the reasons I divorced myself from the church as a young adult. I’d been thinking about what type of person I wanted to become and what it might take to achieve that. I looked around, comparing people’s lives with the resulting character I saw in them, and it seemed clear that hard work and endurance were the keys to building the life I wanted. I saw that the life of ease tends to make people weak, negligent, and unprincipled. And the words I’d heard so many times growing up in church echoed through my head: “Let go and let God.” It’s a New Testament ideal, a far cry from the Old’s trials of Job. I saw that nouveau doctrine playing out in my church, with the faithful beseeching God to do things that only required a little clever rumination and elbow grease. And I knew our differences were irreconcilable. (What would my earthly father have said if I leaned on him to do the things I was too lazy to do myself?)

Around that same time, I was exposed to the ultra-wealthy population of Tulsa when I moved here from rural Illinois to become a personal trainer in Midtown. I couldn’t even begin to comprehend the riches that these people had, and most of them came from generational wealth, compounding the divide between us. They couldn’t comprehend the life I’d come up in or the lifestyle choices I was forced to make. At first I was a little intimidated, because we’re taught that money is power. I wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but it didn’t take too long for me to realize that sentiment doesn’t hold true in the gym. I flipped the narrative upside-down and made sure my clients understood the power structure when it came to strength and fitness, and I was their master. I’m a generalizer and things were really clicking into place for me as I trained my body and mind with self-imposed hard work, strain, consistently pushing and expanding my limits. You can’t buy that. There’s no easy way to attain the types of traits that I wanted to define my life. This is where I thrive, eschewing the Tim Ferris-style life hacking and lottery-winning shortcuts to “success” in order to just buckle down and engage in good, honest labor. Because whenever you see a rich person who is really fit, they may have had the leisure time to train more than average and they may have had the funds to eat healthier than usual and they may have even hired people to coach them in the right direction. But they still had to put in the work, develop the self-discipline, and do things they may not have wanted to do in order to achieve that goal. I bet that’s hard for a rich person.

But maybe they just had cosmetic surgery. Liposuction. I’ve always wanted to get liposuction. I just need to rid my belly of all the excess fat cells I developed as an Oreo-addicted adolescent and I’m just sure I could have a six pack. But I’m too much of a coward, all the what-ifs and unintended consequences dissuading me. And then there’s the fact that it’s cheating. I nearly cheated in college. Not on exams or in anything academic (unless you consider using my charming personality on my professors, cheating). I nearly cheated in my extracurricular religious pursuit: football.

My hometown friends and I idolized a bodybuilder named Mike O’Hearn, because he claimed to be a “natural” bodybuilder, meaning he didn’t take steroids or growth hormone or any other banned substances. But the guy was massive and ripped. Broad shoulders, huge pecs, six-pack abs, and hulking thighs, he was a statue of manly perfection. We wanted to be him, and the idea that he managed to grace the cover of Muscle & Fitness Magazine through sheer hard work was all I needed to hear. I’m sure there’s a certain amount of genetics involved in the disparity between my body and O’Hearn’s, but I watched other guys in the gym begin to look like him while I continued to look like me. The difference? Those guys were doing ‘roids. I knew there was at least one guy on my college football team doing steroids and I suspected there were several others in the conference who were juicing. We all knew pro cyclists like Lance Armstrong were cheating, baseball players were being found out, and the idea that the massive men playing in the NFL were passing drug tests seemed like a farce.

So I carried $250 cash in my gym bag every day for a couple years. Each day I went to the gym intending to spend the money with some Mike O’Hearn lookalike who would give me the gym candy, take me into the locker room and show me how to inject it into my arm or leg, or maybe it was oral. Hell, I had no idea. But every day I would get to the gym and remind myself that it was cheating. Anyone could take steroids and get jacked. The trick, for me, was building a huge amount of strength, power, size, and speed without cheating. So I never did it.

Those are called principles.

I went to Society on Cherry Street to have a burger for lunch. It’s not the best burger or fries and the service isn’t particularly good, but I’m a man of routine. I don’t like to exacerbate my decision fatigue by trying to decide where to eat. They have a nice patio with a blazing fireplace, and I don’t generally feel sick or bloated after eating there. When I walked in, I recognized a man sitting at my usual table who has been a regular at DoubleShot since the very early days. He was friends with Chicago Bob, who shockingly died in a car accident. I don’t really know this guy, but he’s quietly been around for a very long time. In fact, I’d just seen him at DoubleShot earlier in the day. He was engrossed in conversation and didn’t see me, and I didn’t particularly feel like idle chit-chat anyway. Eventually he left, but came back because he forgot his scarf. And then he happened to noticed me, and came over to my table. He began to tell me that DoubleShot is a really special place. He said my work is understated but the passion that I have seeps out into the customers and creates a “sacred” space. He said that it’s become a “home away from home,” and that it’s meant so much to him and his family for many years.

I knew this guy was solid because of the people he hangs out with, but his words really meant a lot to me, especially with my current state of mind. He won’t have any idea, but everything he said was just what I needed to hear. I almost had tears in my eyes, but he left with his scarf and I stoically finished my burger. Then as I got up to leave, a man at another table called to me and said, “I know who you are.” I walked over to his table and he told me he really loves DoubleShot. He said he drives by every morning on his way to work and stops in every Friday for a treat. He brought his daughter there and now she goes every day. He said it’s really something special and that the coffee is the best in town, maybe anywhere.

I was flabbergasted. I had no idea what to say to either of these guys. I just thanked them and told them I was having a hard day and their words meant a lot. I know that we tend to believe in the supernatural based on unexplained coincidences, and I felt that. It truly seemed like something compelled me to go to Society (as opposed to eating ramen at my desk or Roosevelt’s, my other lunchtime haunt) and that same spirit coerced these two men into saying something to me. The Great Spirit, maybe, which guides me when I’m in the wilderness. Or maybe it was just the random kindness of people.

It buoyed me a bit, and I started to think about all the problems I experience, all the hurdles, all the aloneness I feel. I thought about what that first guy said about my passion creating a sacred space. And I could feel myself centering once again. I think after my mother got sick and stopped working at DoubleShot, I found myself in the midst of so much sudden change and paperwork and in a management crisis. I started focusing on how to fix the problems and took my eye off of the basis of my beliefs. What makes DoubleShot different from every other coffee company out there is our unwavering commitment to operating under a strict set of standards. Beneath those are a list of values and practices that define who we are and what we believe in. Not everyone who comes to DoubleShot will know that it’s this way, but if you hang out long enough, one should feel it.

After lunch, back in the office, I went on a long tirade about our company values. I think what I realized after talking to the two guys at Society is that the people who “get it” are folks who understand that the coffee is really good because of my unwavering commitment to that core set of beliefs. They love the coffee, but they aren’t surprised that it’s good because they know I’m stalwart and resolute. Most people aren’t a part of our tribe. They’ll get mad that we messed up or they’ll disagree with the way we do something and start patronizing another shop that doesn’t know their ass from a hole in the ground. Not enough people buy into the idea of foundational values for a business, but if we don’t start focusing on the importance of those things, this place is going to careen into oblivion and I’m going to let it.

I slept hard and dreamed vividly and woke up feeling like I’ve been trying to maintain the “old way” during a changing culture that has lost sight of what coffee really is and what it means to do things with integrity.

People don’t know how fragile this ecosystem is. I’m still the key man and if I go out in the wilderness and don’t come back or if I give up hope and decide not to continue, the whole DoubleShot experiment is over. Thankfully, there are people like the two men at Society who preserve the integrity of this thing with their appreciation and assurance that I’m not wasting my life. It’s about a lot more than our original mission. Today, our continued existence must revolve around that list of values, practices, and core beliefs.

So here it is:

Craft - hands-on roasting, packaging, design, storytelling

Knowledge - history, science, agriculture, processing, varieties, cultures, equipment, consumer behavior

Integrity - honesty, fairness, reliability

Quality - product, place, intentionality in all

Work Ethic - think about the meaning of those two words

Relationships - with the producers of all our products, our customers, and others in the industry and our community

Proficiency - sourcing, roasting, design, drink-making, and storytelling in the written word, videos and audio production

Conservation - not wasting resources, over-using energy, or throwing away what can be reused

Freshness - not compromising this for a dollar

Health & Fitness - through sport, eating well, encouraging regular exercise and healthy coffee drinks

I’m constantly thinking about what makes us different from all the other coffee roasters out there. The big guys like Starbucks and Dutch Bros, to my estimation, have no interest whatsoever in coffee. They are caffeine dealers, at best. They are huge because they scratch the itch of mainstream society. Sugary, caffeinated milkshakes are what most people consider “coffee.” Caffeine is not coffee.

But what about the local roasters that have popped up all over the US over the past few years? That’s good, right? Because, as I learned way back in 1998, freshness is really important when it comes to the taste of coffee. But that was just the first thing I realized when it came to roasting. Since then, I’ve developed a whole arsenal of skills and knowledge that determine whether or not that fresh-roasted coffee will taste good. Most roasters don’t know and don’t take the time or have the curiosity to find out what those factors are. I’m sure you’re not aware of this, but the overwhelming majority of small roasters are roasting the same coffees, maybe calling them something different for the sake of marketing, and don’t have the first clue how to actually roast coffee because their roasting machine is computerized and programmed solely to turn green coffee brown. They don’t have the palate, the interest, or any concern whatsoever about serving you an excellent beverage. They have cute names for their blends though.

How about the heavyweights in the specialty coffee sector? You probably know the names. Well, let’s ask some questions. Why are they selling so many blends instead of focusing on relationships with producers and highlighting single-estate, single-variety coffees? What’s with all the expensive packaging? Why are they selling coffee in 10-ounce packages for prices that you would normally expect from very high-end 16-ounce bags? Why don’t they talk about how they roast coffee? Who is roasting the coffee? Is it a robot, like the robot baristas they showcase?

What about all the fancy brands you see on the grocery store shelves? A lot of those are local. But coffee beans on the grocery store shelf are not fresh. The roasters put “best by” or “expiration” dates on the packaging, generally a year from the time it was roasted. That’s not quality. That’s a money play.

All the hoopla about AI these days is infiltrating everything from decision-making to art to communication. Need a website? AI will design one for you with AI generated images and AI generated text. Want to start a roastery and coffee shop? No doubt, AI will order your coffees, roast them, make the drinks, greet your customers. Everything except cleaning the cafe. You’ll still need to hire immigrants to do that. Is that what you want? Do you want to go to a coffee website and look at fake images and read text composed by a computer?

At DoubleShot, we do everything the hard way. I design all the packaging, and sometimes I even craft the packaging myself, by hand. I travel to places where coffee is grown, so I can see the farms and understand how they are processing the coffees. I get to know the people who grow our coffee. I manage all the logistics and financing to purchase and ship coffees. I cup and use my experience and palate to discern what coffees are best for our portfolio. I roast all the coffee myself. And with the help of staff, all that coffee is sorted, packaged, distributed, brewed, and sold. They call us “old school.”

People occasionally tell me they want to open a coffee shop. When I hear that, it’s no different from someone telling me they want to start working out. Maybe they want to look like Mike O’Hearn. Maybe they want to serve really good coffee. Either way, it’s going to require a herculean effort over a long period of time. And if it’s not hard, you’re probably not doing it right. Sure you could cheat - like my desire to do steroids or get liposuction. But again, true satisfaction in life is the product of hard work, discipline, endurance, adversity, even suffering. Avoid all that and you might as well have stayed your ass on the sofa eating Cheetos and THC gummies with over-ear headphones, engrossed in watching someone else play video games.

Here’s the hard truth: No one likes the guy who leans into principles.

You may feel a sense of security and consistency and assuredness because of him, but he’s impossible to be around. Which leaves two choices really. Retreat inward, maybe escape to the woods. Or kill that old man. It’s likely the estimation made in my early 20s was completely wrong and I became an intolerable person. A machine, sure. One designed for work, not love.

Walking up to work this morning I thought about Isaiah and his exodus from Archetype Coffee. I’d be willing to wager that he could keep going, except it’s too hard to experience extreme, untold stress all day from work and then leave work to experience derision for not doing things the way that conventional wisdom would say a business should be run.

I operate as close to my limit as possible nearly all the time. It doesn’t take much to push me over the edge. And I’m probably teetering on the edge right now. Over the edge is the idea that no one cares, that this is all a lot of very hard and complicated work, and it’s all for nothing. On the other end of that totter are those grounding principles. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter if anyone agrees with me or not. I either live by my principles or I disappear.

There are too many people on the wrong end of that board. We need more folks who are steadfastly bound to the ideals. A few of us outweigh a multitude of them, because they are empty.