Why I quit being CEO—and swear to never be one again
After 15 years as a chief executive, most recently at cannabis grower and distributor Green Thumb Industries, I'm done. I need my family more than more money and prestige.
As CEO of Green Thumb Industries, a multistate cannabis company I co-founded, I was recently on a road trip meeting with employees at some of our cannabis cultivation and dispensary facilities. I covered three states over four days, which was nothing unusual for an executive at my level. What was unusual was the reaction of my children when I returned, and it was that idiosyncratic reaction that forever changed my life.
Typically when I walked in the door from being away, my three young kids were either waiting for me at the door or they would run to me for big hugs when they heard the front door open. But after this trip, my children, who were all assembled on the couch in our family room, didn’t lift a finger. They didn’t move or even respond to my arrival with any acknowledgement. I didn’t say anything to my kids, but I registered my concern and my terrible sense of guilt with my wife shortly thereafter. It was as if life in my house had moved on without me. It was a clear signal that I wasn’t needed at home and they were just fine without me. It was a clear signal that my priorities were horribly out of sequence.
And so, after 15 years in the official capacity of chief executive, I am leaving this role forever. A CEO is someone who sees the future and adapts accordingly, and I have seen the future and I am adapting. In mid-July, I announced my plans to depart GTI, a publicly traded company I led and built, with an amazing team of people and partners, into one of the largest legal marijuana companies in the U.S., with a market capitalization of over $1 billion, effective Aug. 29.
CEOs often leave because they say they want to spend more time with their families. It’s a statement that has become so commonplace that it’s entirely cliched. Well, I didn’t leave because I want to spend more time with my family. I left for me, selfish as that sounds. I left because I spent the last 15 years chasing money and prestige when what I really meant to chase was memories. And speaking of memories, I have far too few, because my mind was so overwhelmed with things that don’t matter that even when I was in a memory-making moment on vacation with my family, I could barely spare 10 percent of my mind-share on processing a great memory.
Now to be clear, I have been one lucky dude, and I am the only one to blame. I did this all to myself, and absolutely no one should feel badly for me. That’s not the intent of this piece. I was the one who struggled to find balance, and no one coerced me into this spot. I was an addict who was addicted to my work and my emails and things that won’t ever be remembered by anyone, addicted to fame and ego and titles and prestige. And much like a diagnosed addict, I have to remove myself, heal myself and agree that I will never return to my old ways if I want to truly improve.
Pretty much everyone I talk to about my journey doubts I’ll be able to stay away from starting a business or from being a CEO again. One friend said, “You’ll be a CEO again by the third day of walking your kids to school.” To be clear, the issue isn’t that I don’t want to be a CEO again. I actually 100 percent do want to be a CEO again. Rather, the issue is that I’m an addict and it’s not healthy for me or my family to be a CEO.
And while I’ll be a sideline spectator and attending many more games and recitals, it’s also not reasonable (or realistic) for me to do only that. I’ll be doing a lot of volunteer work and investing in businesses that can help propel our urban ecosystems that have been so badly damaged by the war on drugs. But as I invest, I plan to hire a CEO versus being one myself.
Anyone undergoing addiction counseling is taught to both appreciate and apologize. In that light, I want to thank the thousands of people I have had the good fortune of employing. You inspired me to get out of bed every morning, and without you this journey wouldn’t have been as magical as it has been. I also want to apologize to people I have offended and those who I looked past in the process of attempting to elevate myself because my ego got in the way. Most important, I want to apologize to my family and friends for forcing them to put their lives on hold and make sacrifices while I lived out my dreams. You truly deserve a medal of honor for what I put you through.
I will certainly look back fondly on my last 15 years and tell my children and grandchildren many stories about these incredible years and moments. And the good news is, I’ll now have the time to do that.
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