14 Days In: What I Knew, What I Didn’t, and the Black Leather Couch Moment That Hit Me Hard

Two weeks.

Just fourteen days into this wild ride called Vessel—and I already feel like I’ve lived a year.

This past Friday, I was sitting on the black leather sofa in the reception lounge—feet up, shoulders dropped, a little quieter than usual. The team and I had just wrapped another whirlwind week, and we started debriefing like we always do: What went well? What needs work? What are we building toward?

I opened with what I meant: “You guys crushed it.”

Because they did.

Week two was full—full of clients, full of energy, full of moments where I stood back and thought, Yep. This is what we set out to build.

Our biggest win? Every single man who walked through our doors had an experience.

Not a transaction.
Not a quick visit.
An experience.

Some started care. Some didn’t need to—yet. And a few were referred out because, well, when you’re running advanced labs on 109 biomarkers, you uncover some stuff. But every man, every single human, was treated like I’d treat my dad. Or my best friend. With respect. With care. With honesty.

That was expected.

What also didn’t surprise me? The hiccups.

Like when someone ordered peptides and—note to self—we forgot to charge for shipping. Cool cool cool. Free gains for everyone, I guess?

Or when friends stopped by with flowers and congratulations and we were genuinely pumped to see them—but also a little underwater. One minute behind schedule turned into fifteen. And listen, we have a value about respecting the hell out of people’s time. So, yep. We felt that one. But we learned. We tightened it up. We're better already.

We left that team meeting with three clear changes for next week to make things smoother. Exactly what I thought would happen by week two. Still on track.

But before we all took off for the weekend, I asked the crew one final question:
“What was your favorite moment this week?”

And then—boom—the real stuff started rolling in.

One guy started testosterone optimization and literally called in just days later, buzzing with excitement about how incredible he already felt.

Another man called nearly in tears, saying finally someone figured out what was going on in his body. We’d looked at his labs—really looked—and laid out a plan. He said he felt seen. Known. Heard.

I expected those calls. I knew we’d change lives that fast.

I heard teammates talk about how clients were blown away by our space. How the aesthetic felt masculine, intentional, and elevated. Again—called that.

I heard men say they were shocked we offered stem cell treatments at this level—without the usual ego or upsell. Again—on brand.

But then…

Then came the story I didn’t see coming. Not yet anyway.

A man who had recently kicked an addiction walked through our doors and said the moment he stepped in, he felt something. Like home. Like belonging. Like this place had energy he’d been chasing for a long time.

Then there was another guy—divorced after 22 years—who had just finished his testing. On his way out, I walked up, introduced myself, and he looked me dead in the eye and said, “I needed this to get healthy, for sure. But I just realized… man, I fucking need this for so much more.”

That one hit different.

Because here’s the truth: I knew testosterone optimization could make a man feel like a rockstar. I knew bioidentical hormones, DEXA, cognitive testing, and peptides could help reverse disease, boost energy, and restore vitality.

But deep down?

I hoped we could build something more.

A place where men feel included.
A place where they feel connected.
A place that doesn’t just hand out scripts—but hands them their power back.

We bust our asses as men.
We show up. We lead. We carry heavy things—physically, mentally, emotionally.
And too often, we do it in silence.

Why shouldn’t we have a place that sees all of that?
That helps us get healthy, and helps us grow?

That’s what Vessel is becoming.

It’s not just a clinic.

It’s not just a “center” or a “program” or a “solution.”

It’s a brotherhood.

A soft landing when life feels hard.
A launching pad when you’re ready to level up.
A place to rebuild, reclaim, and rise.

So, yeah, 14 days in—and the systems are working.
The team is buzzing.
The mission is clearer than ever.

But more than that?

The soul of this place is showing up.
And that—that is what makes me certain we’re only just beginning.