I was sipping a cup of cacao this morning out here in the Arizona high desert, mulling over the Oracle reading I cast—25, Innocence, and 51, The Arousing. “Supreme success. Perseverance furthers,” and “Shock brings success.” It struck a chord with me, reflecting on how often I’ve challenged norms and broken through assumptions—slaughtering sacred cows, as I like to call it. Not the literal kind, but those untouchable ideas people swear by until someone proves them wrong. I’ve done that a lot, often quietly, sometimes against heavy pushback, but always with a kind of stubborn innocence that kept me moving forward.
Take a memory from about ten years back, shucking oysters up in Tamales Bay with Sonya, the mother of my daughter, and Loki, her friend who’s an engineer at Tesla. Loki was cracking up over how some engineers thought Elon Musk was an idiot at times. He told us about an all-hands meeting where Elon showed off a prototype for an electric truck. The room was full of skeptics, engineers rolling their eyes, thinking it was a dead-end idea. Fast forward to just the other day, out here in the desert at the LTVA where nomads camp off-grid, and I spot a Cybertruck cruising by. Proof in the dust that a “dumb” idea can become reality. That’s the thing with sacred cows—you don’t always realize you’ve slaughtered one until the evidence is undeniable.
This got me reflecting on my own journey, especially with Agroverse under TrueSight DAO. I’ve worked in early-stage Silicon Valley startups like Edmodo and Disconnect, where the culture was all about tinkering and hacking. Sacred cows got taken down without fanfare—sometimes we only noticed in hindsight, other times we actively cheered it on. But Agroverse felt different. Maybe it’s the kind of profiles we drew into the DAO, but somehow, sacred cows hitched a ride with them. I’ve had people stare me down and say, “Gary, stop dreaming. The DAO is imaginary. Agroverse won’t work. Wake up.” Another member, instead of tackling critical blockers they were well-positioned to handle, stalled, twiddled thumbs, and tried to shift focus to their unrelated personal project. We ended up using AI to streamline their role out of the loop. They left the DAO, and their side project went nowhere.
Then there’s the cacao—something I’ve been working with closely for a while now. One sacred cow we dragged into Agroverse was the notion that every batch of cacao had to be standardized for the market. But when we connected with farmers and dug into what US consumers really wanted, we found the opposite. The variance—the distinct flavor profiles from different farms—was the draw. Another assumption shattered. And here’s a more recent one: a member of the team was convinced US folks hated chunky drinks. Yet, over the past two years, every bit of feedback I’ve gotten from people I’ve served cacao to tells a different story. They love the chunks in there—little bits to chew on, a sign they’re drinking something real, not overprocessed chocolate. My take? Unless you’re a customer buying the product, your feedback doesn’t carry the same weight. That insight simplified our supply chain in a snap. No need to spend four days grinding cacao in a melanger for that “perfect” smoothness. Why over-engineer it?
I’m eyeing another sacred cow now, too. In the US, there’s this vibe that you need high-end machines and complex processes to craft premium dark chocolate bars. But I’ve seen small chocolate setups in Brazil—folks using basic gear in their homes, nothing fancy. It’s got me wondering: do we really need to buy into this standard? Could I run a small operation out of my car if push came to shove? Break the mold yet again?
This reminds me of a story from my family—my mom and dad breaking into the Singapore market with their roast duck, roast chicken, roast pork, and braised duck business. When they started out in Clementi town, there were 23 other stores hawking the same stuff. Competition was brutal. My parents, especially my mom, spent their off-hours roaming Singapore, buying from other stalls, tasting everything. She crafted her own recipe, tossing in spices not typically used in braising duck. I can still remember the aroma of that gravy simmering—rich, unforgettable. After my dad ended up in the hospital and they stopped braising themselves, the flavor flattened out a bit. Still, after decades of cutthroat competition, only three stores remained in that wet market. My parents’ was one of them. They sold it before retiring, but the lesson stuck with me: challenge the norm, tweak the recipe, and let the market decide. Another sacred cow down.
Key observation: Slaughtering sacred cows isn’t a walk in the park. Resistance comes hard—sometimes it’s mockery, sometimes it’s physical. Growing up, I wasn’t the biggest or strongest in my family. When I tried to do things my way, I’d get beaten down—burns, bruises, blood from an open wound or a busted nose. Those moments taught me a hard truth: when you’re taking down a sacred cow, do it stealthily. Serve the beef once it’s cooked, let folks savor the meal, and only then reveal where the meat came from. By then, they’re too satisfied to fight you on it.
I’ve got a long list of these quiet victories. In high school, I saved $3,000 for a piano. My dad was skeptical; my brother mocked me, calling it a passing phase. But when that piano arrived, and I played a pop song flawlessly, the doubts vanished. Another time, in middle school, my dad banned me from basketball—said it caused injuries, citing cousins with knee surgeries. I was crushed but curious, so I played after school behind his back. Two years later, I joined the school team. By year three, a high school coach spotted me, got me in on a sports quota, and I ended up playing for Singapore’s national team for two years. National colors award in hand, another sacred cow slaughtered.
Reflections for the day: This loops back to that Oracle reading—Innocence and Shock. I’ve often approached these challenges with a naive kind of grit, not always seeing the “rules” I was breaking until later. And the shock? That’s the reaction—mine and others’—when the impossible turns real. From tech consulting in college (pulling 3x what my peers made out of uni with a Sanofi Aventis contract) to dropping everything to move to Silicon Valley on a whim, I’ve learned stability isn’t the only path. Sometimes, you’ve gotta shock the system—yours and everyone else’s.
So, what about you? What sacred cows are you up against right now? Are you ready to challenge them quietly, let the results speak, and serve the beef when it’s done? I’d love to hear your stories—or even your hesitations about whether it’s worth the battle.
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