FOREWORD
Looking back, writing a foreword to a book on the cannabis industry was never part of the plan . . . definitely not. In fact, working with the cannabis industry was not something I ever expected to happen in my life.
My cannabis journey started five years ago and changed my life forever. I would like to think fate intervened, because I was an unlikely candidate. I was virtually unknown to the cannabis industry; I never smoked or consumed cannabis, and here I was being tapped by the Governor’s Office to head up the Bureau of Cannabis Control, an agency that hadn’t even been created yet but was expected to regulate this newly legalized California cannabis industry.
The mere thought of undertaking this tremendous task was both intimidating and terrifying. I kept telling myself this was not for me, but my gut was tugging at me to accept this appointment. It was a challenge of a lifetime and a chance to quell those feelings in my heart that I was not good enough.
It was a grueling task that tested every facet of my being, including learning from the ground up about this remarkable and resilient industry. It was leadership boot camp even for the most seasoned regulator. Along the way, I encountered extreme highs and lows, lots of self-reflection, anxiety, team- work, and personal sacrifices, and I finally learned to accept the accomplishments despite the criticisms.
I will always be grateful for the opportunity to serve the cannabis industry and all the wonderful people I met along the way. Jamie was someone I came to know and respect during this journey. Strong and fiercely independent, she is a passion- ate force who always gave her opinion even when I did not nec- essarily want to hear it! She was committed to the cause of making cannabis legalization work.
Jamie’s unique personal story takes you through the tumultuous legalization of the biggest cannabis market in the nation. It is raw, honest, and unexpected . . . not unlike Jamie.
Lori Ajax
Chief, Bureau of Cannabis Control (2016–2020)
California’s first “Cannabis Czar”
INTRODUCTION
A $5,000 stack of one-hundred-dollar bills has a volume of approximately sixteen cubic inches. This means that $100,000 can fit comfortably in an average shoebox. In turn, the cargo compartment of my SUV can hold two such shoeboxes next to the spare tire. It is ludicrous that I should have cause to know the above data points, but they are part of the reality that goes with running an all-cash cannabis business that cannot access the banking system due to its conflict with federal law.
When driving the two hundred miles from Redding back to my home in Santa Rosa at the end of the workweek, or simply driving from one of the stores across town, in my shiny black SUV, obeying all traffic laws while SiriusXM Chill plays softly through the Harman/Kardon speakers, I am just another vehi- cle on the road. Except for my personal protection K9, Zeus, riding in the back seat. And those two shoeboxes.
That I was comfortable with the “uncomfortability” of car- rying $200,000, give or take, in the cargo compartment of my vehicle on any given day of the week is not in any way, shape, or form normal. While this may certainly have been an uncon- ventional way to diversify my assets, it was also insane, prepos- terous, and completely unsafe.
Ironically, my entering the cannabis industry was never about the money. Most people will not believe me when I say that I didn’t get into this industry to become rich. That is the stereotype, but those who know me well understand that I have never been motivated by money.
So, if not for the money, then why did I do it?
Why did I exchange my well-paying corporate job for the risk of starting such a highly controversial small business in a staunchly conservative part of Northern California?
Why did I make the decision to open a cannabis store seven years before full legalization, during a time in which the industry was truly another Wild West?
To see if I could.
And while that is definitely part of the answer, it is also a gross oversimplification.
The unconventional spirit that has been at my core for as long as I can remember was in the driver’s seat again, and I knew it would be one hell of a ride. Even the fact that I wanted to run my own business defied convention, given that my degree is in English, not business. I’m a word nerd, not a num- ber cruncher, for f’s sake.
In fact, “unconventional” is quite possibly the single best word that describes not only who I am but also the way in which I have pursued my vision, built my businesses, and ulti- mately how I have sculpted my life, before, during, and beyond cannabis.
Starting with the launch of my first store in 2009, even know- ing that I was starting down a path that was sure to be fraught with challenges, I never could have imagined the fantastic journey that was to follow.
This is the story of that journey; a journey of the incidents that molded me, the laws that guided me, the people who helped and inspired me. It is also the story of the principles that I learned, honed, and refined over the course of my jour- ney as an unlikely entrepreneur in an industry that was taking shape on the fly.
But, above all else, this is a story about never—even in the face of overwhelming, oftentimes seemingly insurmountable odds—giving up on yourself or your vision.
Come with me and experience this incredible cannabis adventure—one that, like any journey, began with a road . . .
THAT ROAD
The Robert Frost poem is timeless for good reason: its simple beauty has touched and inspired millions, myself included.
It’d be great to say that I read Frost’s words at a young age and was so moved that I subsequently decided to always take the path less traveled. But that would be to credit me with foresight I didn’t have. In retrospect, however, that road less traveled has presented itself to me time and again, and it has been the one that I have chosen often, sometimes consciously, sometimes not.
The times I have consciously chosen that road have often been the result of envisioning what ninety-year-old me would want present-day me to do.
I also saw the concept of the well-traveled road as a safety net. I mean, if I got down the less traveled one and walked into a shit tornado, I could always backtrack, right?
But it is often a risk, that road less traveled—a big one— and one not many people can understand taking.
I remember telling my dad (who had been christened “Dean” but dubbed “Jocko,” a childhood nickname that he carried his whole life) about my decision to open a medical cannabis store, a decision that meant, of course, that I had to leave my corporate job at Pacific Gas & Electric Company.
We were talking over the phone, and I could visualize him scratching his head, literally and figuratively, when he asked me why I would leave such a secure position with an excel- lent company to go out and start my own business—and a “pot shop,” of all things. He was incredulous.
I told him this was something I had to do; I had to try. He should have remembered that I always thrive on a challenge.
I also told him that if I failed, there would be time enough for me to go back to the well-traveled road and find another job. There would always be another job if I needed one, whereas there might not ever be another opportunity like the one before me; I meant to seize it.
While my motivation was idealistic and my family circle had always encouraged the concept of following one’s dream, I was pushing the envelope this time.
Perhaps this is why I never gave up, even during the most difficult, harrowing hours of my journey. But I know it’s also because I am quite stubborn and have always been fiercely competitive, always driven to succeed and to win.
This was one of the times I consciously took the road lesstraveled, and it indeed made all the difference.
