I Spent My Life Telling Other People's Stories. Then I Had to Find My Own.

There are moments in life that change you forever.

Sometimes they happen in an instant. Sometimes they unfold quietly over years, until one day you look in the mirror and realize you no longer recognize the person staring back.

I've experienced both.

For much of my life, I believed my purpose was to tell the stories of others. To give a voice to people who couldn't always speak for themselves. To use my creativity, my camera, and my ability to connect with people to make a difference in the world.

I never imagined that one day, I would become the person searching for a voice of my own.

And I certainly never imagined that a plant surrounded by so much misunderstanding would become part of the journey that brought me back to myself.

I spent years working as a multimedia producer and storyteller, eventually serving as Manager of Multimedia for Americares, an international humanitarian organization dedicated to improving health care access for people affected by poverty, disasters, and humanitarian crises.

Americares provides essential medicines and medical supplies, supports health care providers, responds to emergencies, and helps restore and strengthen medical facilities and health systems in vulnerable communities.

My responsibility was to document that work and tell the human stories behind it.

That responsibility took me far beyond the comfort of an office or production studio.

Haiti. El Salvador. Nepal. Liberia. Communities throughout the United States, Latin America, and the Caribbean.

From the aftermath of devastating hurricanes to the rebuilding of medical facilities, I traveled to places where people were facing some of life's most difficult circumstances.

I met families who had lost nearly everything. I witnessed communities struggling to rebuild. I documented medical professionals working tirelessly to provide care under extraordinary conditions.

And everywhere I went, I encountered something that stayed with me.

The remarkable resilience of the human spirit.

My job was to capture those moments, tell those stories, and inspire others to care. The content and storytelling I contributed to helped support humanitarian fundraising efforts that generated millions of dollars.

It was meaningful work. It was important work. And I was proud to be part of it.

But there was another side to that experience.

You can spend your life helping carry the burdens of others without realizing how much of that weight you've begun carrying yourself.

I came home from assignments with photographs, footage, and stories that could help change lives. But I also came home with memories I didn't know how to process.

The suffering. The uncertainty. The faces. The feeling that no matter how much we accomplished, there was always more that needed to be done.

I knew how to tell the world what I had witnessed.

I didn't know how to tell anyone what it was doing to me.

I wasn't looking for a movement. I wasn't looking to start a company. I was looking for a way to feel like myself again.

Somewhere along that journey, cannabis entered my life in a new and meaningful way. I began exploring it not through the stereotypes I had grown up hearing, but through my own experiences and conversations with people who understood it differently.

For me, cannabis became a personal tool for slowing down, reflecting, and reconnecting with my creativity. It became part of how I navigated difficult moments and rediscovered interests that had once brought me joy.

But something else happened that was even more important. I started meeting people.

Artists. Musicians. Entrepreneurs. Everyday people from different backgrounds, with different stories, who shared a common appreciation for cannabis and the connections that formed around it.

And without realizing it, I was finding something I had been missing.

A sense of belonging.

For the first time in a long time, I wasn't the person behind the camera documenting someone else's journey. I was simply Marc. A person with ideas, questions, struggles, dreams, and something meaningful to contribute.

And that experience planted an idea in my mind. What if I could help create that feeling for someone else?

Cannabees was born in 2018. Not as an app. Not as a business plan. Not as a promise of becoming the next great social network.

It began with a drawing. A little bee. A symbol that would eventually represent something much larger than I understood at the time.

I began creating patches, artwork, clothing concepts, music, and writing. Cannabis had become part of my personal creative process, and these projects gave me something positive to focus on.

What started as a creative outlet slowly became a vision. I imagined a community where people who appreciated cannabis could connect without judgment. A place where artists could find audiences. Where businesses could build relationships. Where people could learn from one another, share experiences, and celebrate their individuality.

A place where creativity wasn't measured by fame or fortune, but by the courage to express yourself.

At the end of 2020, my life changed in ways I never could have anticipated.

I had just stepped away from the second documentary I had been independently producing when, on New Year's Eve, I was introduced to a woman who would change my life.

Six days later, we were married.

It was unexpected, extraordinary, and the beginning of a completely different chapter.

Our relationship gave me an opportunity to separate myself from parts of my past, reconsider the direction of my life, and begin imagining a future I might never have pursued otherwise.

But what I didn't anticipate was how difficult that separation would be.

When you've spent decades identifying yourself through your work, what happens when that work is no longer the center of your world? Who are you without the titles, the assignments, the travel, the recognition, or the familiar sense of purpose?

I struggled with those questions. For nearly five years, I found myself searching for the confidence and identity I once believed were unshakable.

Cannabees remained in the background, a quiet reminder of something I still believed could matter.

When I began exploring ChatGPT and the rapidly evolving world of artificial intelligence, something awakened in me.

Ideas that had lived in my imagination for years suddenly had a path toward becoming real. I began teaching myself how to use new technologies, rebuild my website, develop an app, create music, design products, and bring my creative vision together.

I didn't need to become a software engineer overnight. I needed curiosity, determination, and the willingness to believe that I could still learn something entirely new.

And with each new accomplishment, something remarkable happened. My confidence started returning. My creativity began flowing again. I started waking up with ideas I couldn't wait to explore.

And through that experience, I discovered the four things that had quietly carried me through nearly every chapter of my life.

Fashion. Art. Music. Expression.

F.A.M.E. — The creative foundation of Cannabees.

I realized these weren't simply categories for an app. They were pathways through which people discover themselves, communicate with the world, and connect with others.

They had helped me find my way back. And I wanted to give others a place to explore their own.

I know what it feels like to have something meaningful to offer and not know where you belong.

I know what it feels like to have creativity inside you with no clear place to express it. I know what it feels like to lose your sense of purpose.

And I know how powerful it can be when someone makes you feel seen, heard, and valued.

That's why Cannabees is so personal to me. I'm not building Cannabees because the world needs another social media app. I'm building it because I believe the world needs more places where people can genuinely connect.

Places where someone can arrive as a stranger and discover a community. Where an artist can share a creation and find someone who appreciates it. Where a musician can find listeners. Where a small business can discover loyal supporters.

I believe cannabis culture has an opportunity to be recognized for far more than its stereotypes. It includes creativity, entrepreneurship, education, advocacy, friendship, and community.

My personal relationship with cannabis helped shape this vision. I also recognize that cannabis isn't right for everyone, and that its effects, benefits, and risks deserve thoughtful, evidence-based discussion.

You don't have to consume cannabis to belong here. You just have to bring something that no one else can. Yourself.

One of my greatest hopes for Cannabees is that people will feel something the moment they enter the Hive. That they're welcome. That they're safe. That they belong.

I want Cannabees to feel like a warm, inviting gathering place where adults from all walks of life can come together, express themselves without fear of judgment, and discover the extraordinary things that can happen when creativity meets community.

A place where we don't simply scroll past one another, but actually connect. Where we celebrate life's moments, big and small. Where artists collaborate, musicians share their talents, entrepreneurs build their shops, and members organize real-world gatherings that turn online introductions into meaningful friendships.

I don't want Cannabees to be a platform where people simply exist. I want it to be a community where people come alive.

Today, Cannabees is becoming the community I once needed. We're beginning in Traverse City, Michigan, bringing together local dispensaries, businesses, medical professionals, artists, musicians, creators, and people who believe in building something positive together.

Our next chapter is a planned expansion across the United States and Canada in the spring of 2027.

But my dream isn't measured only in downloads, memberships, or the number of businesses that join. It's measured in connections.

The friendship that begins because two people discovered each other through a Hive. The local artist who sells their first piece of work. The small business that finds a community willing to support it. The person who attends an event alone and leaves feeling like they belong.

Those are the moments I want Cannabees to make possible. And every person who joins has the opportunity to help build them.

If you've read this far, I want to thank you. Not simply for taking the time to learn about me, but for allowing me to share a part of my life that hasn't always been easy to put into words.

I've spent years traveling the world, documenting the stories of people who needed to be heard. I've experienced extraordinary moments of purpose and difficult periods of uncertainty. I've lost confidence, questioned my direction, and wondered what the next chapter of my life might hold.

And somewhere along the way, through cannabis, creativity, technology, and the people who entered my life, I found a new reason to believe in what I could create.

That reason became Cannabees.

But here's what I hope you'll understand. Cannabees isn't really about me. It's about what happens when people discover that they don't have to figure everything out alone.

It's about finding your voice. Finding your people. Finding your purpose.

If you're curious about cannabis, come learn. If you're a creator, come express yourself. If you're a business, come build meaningful relationships. If you're searching for community, come find your people.

And if you're still trying to figure out what your next chapter looks like, I hope you'll find a little inspiration here.

Because I know what it feels like to start over. And I know how much it matters when someone believes you still have something extraordinary to offer.