I first met Jeff Ernst in junior high school.

He was the new kid. His dad was in the military, which meant Jeff had just landed in our town. I hadn’t been there that long myself, so I knew exactly what it felt like to arrive somewhere without roots.

The first interaction wasn’t exactly friendly.

Jeff was hitting on my friend’s girlfriend, Molly, and I was recruited as the “muscle” to go intimidate him. I was as big then as I am now, somehow, and that was apparently qualification enough. I don’t remember the details of what was said, but I remember the outcome. We didn’t fight. We talked. And somehow, instead of becoming enemies, we became friends.

That turn says a lot about both of us.

Back then, I was painfully shy. I was an odd student, more comfortable in art classes and on the field than anywhere else. If not for sports, art, and music, I don’t know what would have happened to me. Jeff, on the other hand, was confident. Maybe cocky. But if you’re the new kid in school, confidence is a smart survival strategy. Looking back, it makes sense.

What’s harder to explain is why we stayed friends.

Even after I moved away, even as life pulled us in different directions, we kept finding our way back to each other. Part of it, I think, was that I didn’t have many friends. I was careful with the ones I did have. Jeff also understood something about me early on that many people didn’t. He knew I meant well. I wasn’t self-centered. I was just deeply self-conscious.

We also shared interests. Curiosity. A way of looking at the world that mostly aligned, and when it didn’t, the differences were respected.

What I didn’t fully understand until much later was just how smart Jeff is. He may have hidden that a bit when we were younger. It’s often easier to be cool than smart in school. Over time, though, that intelligence became impossible to miss.

As adults, we eventually came to recognize something important. Our strengths are oppositional in the best way. Jeff is left brain. I’m right brain. His intelligence paired with my intuition is formidable when we trust it. We didn’t always. In fact, it took us years to really lean into that dynamic.

Jeff protects my weaker self-confidence. I help him close the analysis loop so decisions can move forward. Alone, each of us is capable. Together, we’re far better.

What’s changed over time is that we’ve both found our groove. We understand our value now. We know where we belong in the world.

What hasn’t changed is who we are. We know where we came from. We’re still friends.

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Of course, we’ve disappointed each other along the way. I’m sure I’ve hurt feelings and made poor judgments. Time smooths the details, but it doesn’t erase the truth. Life happens. Careers happen. Families happen. We lost track of each other more than once. That’s normal.

What never happened was an unrecoverable break.

We know each other’s good and bad. There are very few people on earth I trust the way I trust Jeff.

We tried entrepreneurial projects together long before PKGD. None of them worked. Then Jeff moved to Chicago and started building something new. He called me and asked for help. I was in a position to say yes. That opportunity, through significant evolution, became PKGD and ultimately led us into the agave spirits business.

It’s a vast understatement to say that what PKGD is today amazes me, daily.

Jeff does analysis and numbers at a level I never will. When he sends me a spreadsheet, I don’t check it. I accept it. No one else has that authority. And when I say spreadsheet, I don’t mean a casual document. I mean that when Jeff says he’s analyzed and drafted an eight-million-dollar budget, I say “OK” and start implementing it.

That level of trust doesn’t come from business. It comes from decades.

I also trust Jeff with relationships. People matter deeply to me, and I don’t trust many with those connections. Jeff approaches people differently than I do, but effectively. He’s always been better at making friends than me anyway.

In Mexico, Valentine’s Day isn’t only about romantic love. It’s also about friendship. That framing feels right, and like something Americans could learn from.

Businesses come and go. Markets rise and fall. Economic opportunity ebbs and flows. A true friend remains. If everything we built collapsed tomorrow, I’d still call Jeff to play golf. We’d just be obsessively discussing the next idea.

That’s how I know the relationship transcends business.

If another opportunity emerged, I wouldn’t hesitate for a second to ask Jeff to be part of it. And I hope that by understanding our friendship, people understand our intentions. They are sincere, even when our actions miss the mark. We hope the relationships we build through business also outlast the business itself.

I want to sit someday with our grandchildren, and the grandchildren of our partners, regardless of outcomes, and tell stories about what we tried to build together.

What would I want Jeff to know?

That I love him like a brother. That I trust him with my livelihood. And that I value his intentions and effort far more than any particular result.

Some friendships are loud. Some are dramatic.

The ones that last are usually quiet, practiced over time, and chosen again and again.

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