The one question I've been dodging for years.

Every now and then, I do a podcast, and the host inevitably gets around to asking some version of “What’s next for you?”

I usually offer the same half-joking answer. "Maybe I'll quit all this and open a little brewery someday."

I get a smile because that’s disarming and unexpected. The solopreneur guy who walks away to make craft beer in some small town.

It’s a silly little performance bit.

But the funny part about that answer is I actually stew on this idea all the time. And not as a joke, but a real fantasy I've carried around for years. I’ve pictured it a thousand times.

A little nano-brewery and taproom with exposed brick, reclaimed wood, beautifully artworked cans, and a little chalkboard menu with clever beer names. Jennifer will insist the beers are named after our dogs, and we’ll come to some kind of agreement on that. Maybe it’s just a passion project, and I’m only open a few days a week. It’s a place where I can become a deeper part of my community and chat with locals about anything and everything.

But I never talk about this fantasy in a serious way. Because if I talk about it seriously, someone’s going to ask me the appropriate follow-up question:

"Oh, cool. What kind of beer do you brew?"

And then I'll have to admit I've never brewed a single batch of beer. Candidly, I have no idea if I'll even enjoy the process of making beer! The fantasy is at least five years old, and I haven't taken step one.

So I keep my beer-brewing fantasy to a harmless little bit. A throwaway line that gets a chuckle and moves the conversation along. That way, nobody asks follow-up questions, and I never have to face how silly it is to dream about owning a little brewery when I don't even know if I like brewing.

The finish line problem

I don't think I'm unusual in this regard. I’ve had enough conversations with “dreamers” to know that most people live with some version of their own fantasies.

Secret fantasies they're too embarrassed to talk about seriously. Not because the dream is particularly strange or unrealistic. Because they know they haven't started. And not starting feels like evidence that maybe they don't really want it, or maybe they're not the kind of person who actually “does things like that.”

So the dream stays private. Or it becomes a joke, or a throwaway line with just enough irony that nobody takes it seriously. Including you.

But underneath all the joking, you've got the finish line of your fantasy mapped out. You know what success will look and feel like. You've imagined being there with the deep satisfaction of accomplishing your dream. And the way people will react when they see it. You've stolen the future emotional payoff without doing any of the work to actually earn it.

So every year that passes without action, the gap between the dream and reality gets a bit wider, which makes it even harder to talk about it seriously, which makes it easier to keep joking. What a vicious cycle.

The deflection is just protection.

If you never take it seriously, you never have to fail at it.

What I finally admitted

I was doing another podcast recently. The host asked the question, and I offered the brewery “joke”.

But after I said it, something felt different. Like I’m tired of the bit. Of using humor to avoid thinking about something I actually want to find out if I enjoy.

I started wondering what’s really going on. Why haven’t I ever tried to brew beer?

I'd like to think it’s because I'm busy. But if I'm being honest, I know that's not the case. The truth is, like a lot of people with big dreams, I want the finish line without running the race.

I want the outcome of ten hard years of work. The popular taproom with the exposed brick and the regulars who know me by name. And when I compare that outcome to where I am now, having never brewed a beer, the gap feels absurdly big. So big it's paralyzing.

What's the point of brewing one batch of beer when my dream is a nano brewery? That little first step feels so pathetically small compared to the fantasy that my mind makes excuses.

So I don't bother. And I just keep the dream tucked away for podcast jokes. And I feel a little bit more like a fraud every time someone smiles.

The math that works

I came to a realization about this dream.

If I decided tomorrow that I wanted to open a brewery within twelve months, that would be a monster mistake. I’m pretty sure I'd fail completely, trying to cram a decade of learning and experimentation into twelve months. I'd make expensive mistakes and probably end up hating the pressure of the process and resenting the whole idea.

But what if my goal for 2026 wasn't to go out and build the brewery at all?

What if the goal was just to brew four batches of beer this year? One per quarter. Choose some different styles, test out some different methods, and see if I actually enjoy the process of brewing beer. Does making beer feel like something I’d want to do for years, or is it a fantasy that sounds better in my head than it is in practice?

I’m no longer projecting myself forward to the finish line. Instead, I’m starting with a simple test.

Sure, I won’t have a taproom in a year. But I’ll know something I don't currently know: If this dream is realistic.

If it turns out I love brewing, then year two can be about improving my process. Year three is about getting serious. Year five is about whether this could actually become something legitimate, and year ten is when the tiny taproom might finally take shape.

That timeline won’t sound impressive on a podcast. Nobody's going to be wowed by me saying, "I'm planning to brew four batches of beer this year."

It sounds small and unambitious compared to "I want to open a brewery."

But small and unambitious is honest. And what’s honest is what’s actually achievable, which is more than I can say for five years of joking about a taproom I've never inched toward.

What I'm doing about it

Jennifer and I are headed to California for the winter this year. And last week, I started identifying places where you can brew beer on-site. I found brewing studios where you show up, they walk you through the entire process, and you store your beer on site, where it takes 4-6 weeks to ferment and condition.

That's my Q1 plan. Not buying expensive equipment I don't know how to use, or reading books about the craft brewing industry. I won’t dream about floor plans for an imaginary taproom. I’m going to show up at a brewing studio and get to work with the hands-on experience to find out if I like the thing I've been joking about for so long.

It feels a little embarrassing to admit this is where I'm starting. But that’s kind of the point here. The first step should feel too small. If it felt proportional to the dream, I'd probably be skipping ahead again, setting myself up for more fantasizing without doing.

How to test your own dream

The brewery is my fantasy. But I'll bet you have your own. Maybe it's a business you've been kicking around for years, or a course or book you keep saying you'll finish, or a pivot you know you need to make but keep pushing off.

Whatever it is, I think there are three questions worth asking before another year slips by.

1. What's the beta version of your dream that you could actually go out and test in the next 90 days? Not the grand vision or the year ten version where you're already done. What's the scrappy, embarrassingly small first step that would give you real information?
2. Does the actual work excite you, or just the shiny outcome? This one matters more than most people realize. You might love the dream, but will you love the unglamorous work? If the process is something you don’t end up enjoying, the dream probably isn’t right.
3. What will you learn from this test that you don't know right now? The point is to gather data. You want to get down to the information you've been avoiding because you’ve been protecting the fantasy.

Instead of trying to build a big online course this year, you might announce a workshop in 90 days. Try to sell it to 10 people, and then do the work of putting together the information. Do you like it? Hate it?

Sure, building a consulting firm sounds like a dream, but instead, go pitch your service to 20 people and see if you can find three that will pay you. Do the conversations energize you, or do they suck the life out of you?

The goal isn't to achieve the big dream fast. All you should care about over the next 90 days is that you move from 100% dreaming to 100% gathering information that helps you understand if you'll really enjoy yourself.

The question underneath all of this

I used to think the brewery fantasy was about beer. Now I'm starting to wonder if it was really about having an escape.

A "someday" I could daydream about whenever the present felt heavy or boring or messy. As long as dreams stay safely in the future, they can remain perfect. No messy reality, no discovering I'm bad at it, no finding out that I hate the tedious parts.

But starting with just one beginner batch means giving up that perfect imaginary version. It means trading the fantasy for information about what's true and what’s not.

That's probably why I've been joking about it instead of doing anything about it. The jokes are safe. First steps are real.

So here's my question for you: What's your brewery?

The dream you've been deflecting to "someday" because you haven't started it. The thing you'd be embarrassed to talk about seriously because someone might ask what you've actually done about it.

Reply and tell me about it.

While I can’t reply to everyone, Jennifer and I read every response. And we love hearing from you.

And I'll be over here in California, finally finding out if I actually like making beer.

That's all for this week. Happy New Year.

See you next Saturday.