Do we always win?
Someone asked me recently if running a business ever gets easier. If there’s a point where you finally feel like you’re winning.
It stopped me for a second, not because I didn’t know the answer, but because I realized how polished the outside can look compared to the inside. The photos. The full dining room at allmine. The posts that show momentum. They tell part of the story, but not the whole thing.
The truth is, most days are not wins. Most days are decisions made with incomplete information, numbers that barely work if everything goes right, and the math you do in your head at midnight when the house is asleep. It’s equipment breaking at the worst possible moment and knowing that not having dough for the weekend isn’t an option, so you buy a new mixer and have it delivered while you’re driving from one farm to the next.
It’s costs rising without warning, plans that looked solid suddenly wobbling, and adjusting in real time because stopping isn’t on the table.
When something finally works, it usually comes after dozens of things didn’t. And even then, that “win” arrives carrying its own set of responsibilities. More pressure. Higher stakes. New expectations. There’s no finish line where you get to sit down and enjoy it for long.
Owning a business also means knowing you can’t do it alone and building a community that will support you when you need it. allmine works because people step in. Because relationships matter long before you need them. Trevor from A South O drops off a keg when I forgot to order it. Ty finishes his day at the ranch and still shows up with meat and eggs because we sold more lasagnas than planned. I swing by Alex from Seasgreens for microgreens to get us through until the next delivery.
That kind of support doesn’t happen by accident. It comes from showing up for others when there isn’t a crisis. From maintaining friendships, honoring commitments, paying attention, and treating people like partners instead of transactions. That’s what community actually looks like. Not a buzzword, but a web of trust that catches you when something slips.
It also means learning faster than feels comfortable. Spending money on lessons you never asked for. Carrying fear and momentum at the same time. Constantly checking pricing, recalculating, finding ways to save twenty dollars here and fifteen there so we don’t have to raise prices, even when that would be easier. Moving forward not because you’re fearless, but because stopping isn’t an option that makes sense anymore.
It’s not safe work. It asks a lot of you. It asks you to believe in something before there’s proof, to keep going when the math is tight and the outcome uncertain, to show up steady for your team even when you’re tired, unsure, or stretched thin.
Some people call that madness. Others call it grit.
I call it choosing to build something that matters, together, over and over again, even when the ground feels unsteady. Even when the view from the outside misses most of what’s happening underneath.
We don’t really talk about winning around here. We talk about showing up. Paying attention. Taking care of people. Making the next decision as honestly as we can.
And then we do it again the next day.
Roxana
