A Letter To The Cannabis Industry

Dear Friends,

What a year. Right?

Maybe you’re a business owner watching the dollars leave quicker than they’re coming in, with sleepless nights wondering how it’s going to play out; will my line survive? Do I switch categories? How do I explain this to investors? What do I do?? Oh, we have to hire someone to figure out METRC? What about my people? I have to let go of how many?

Maybe you’re an investor checking your watch for the umpteenth time, wondering where that promise of a green rush from 3 years ago went. You promised your loved ones it was a good move. You always keep your promises.

Maybe you joined the industry this year with a sparkle in your eye, one of the “chosen ones” to finally get your foot in the door. Now you’re limping with a cane holding you up and a pirate patch covering the dull look of post-war shambles; “what did I sign up for?”

Maybe this isn’t your first year, but it’s the first time your knuckles have turned white, clinging to your desk, your laptop, your business card, as you watch your favorite colleagues get thrown out the back door. “No one’s safe.” And the recruiters are distracting, but your loyalty is too. You’re on your own, you better make the right decision.

Maybe you are one of the ones thrown out the back door. Maybe you laid on your living room floor with, “it’s not personal” replaying over and over in your head. And maybe you cried out, “it’s not personal enough.” Maybe no one gets the family ties we form in this industry. Maybe the ones who get it, are the ones you just got ripped away from. Maybe your heartbreak is real.

Either way, I know you.

And I know your optimism runs deep; deeper than any person in any other industry, ever; and that’s your oxygen tank.

And that tank is running low.

I know you, and I know this year has hurt.

Maybe you slid by unscathed, your paycheck stayed the same, you had plenty of wins. But I know you. I know you move and feel WITH the industry. So I know your heart felt heavy this year. More than once.

I know you said, “wait what?!? No!” as the news rolled in. Maybe about that one thing. Maybe about that other thing.

So, dear friend, I’m here to say thank you.

Thank you for sticking it out; for surging your strength beyond all the ache.

And thank you for doing it with me. For being my family. Thank you for following me, for believing in me, for rooting for me, and for sharing my heartbreak with me; for sharing your heartbreak with me.

Each and every one of us could be making more and working less somewhere else; in some other industry. But we’re here. And as I travel around, and shake new hands, and I ask you your story of ‘why’ – there’s one resounding token we all share: I’m here because of the people.

And I’m here because of you.

And I got you.

That’s really what I want you to know: I can’t save your investment, I can’t make the hysteria go away, I can’t un-lay you off, I can’t force shops to carry you, or pay you, or even disappear the bad guys who fucked you over. But I got you. Some way. Some how. Because I will always, always, always believe in you, why you’re here, and the struggles you are hurdling yourself over and grinding through to be here.


I got you.

I see you.

And I will do everything in my power to keep your undying will to be here, the spotlight in this industry. It will always be my greatest insight when the onlookers want to know more.

“Yes, weed, cool. But let me tell you about the people….”

We aren’t an industry based on a plant. We are an industry based on a uniquely special pod of people that a plant brought together.

And I am so fucking proud to be in your company.

Thank you.

I love you.

Happy New Year,

Alex Frost

Alex Frost Author

KULTURE Contributor