⚠️ Uncensored excitement: this video contains some strong language from real life experience ⚠️
It was a random Tuesday morning in Brooklyn when Greg LaVecchia and his wife Mari walked toward a co-working space they had just rented, expecting nothing unusual. Bloom’s greens powder had been out of stock for three months, the full-time team was essentially the two of them, and the restock they were about to launch felt like a small operational win at best. What happened next would fund the entire future of the company, but not in the way most founders would have handled it. At 31, Greg LaVecchia is the CEO and co-founder of Bloom, a company he describes as doing well over a million dollars in revenue on its worst days. The path there, he is careful to explain, was not about hitting goals. It was about becoming the kind of person who could handle them.
The restock that changed everything
That morning in Brooklyn, LaVecchia sent the email blast, fired the SMS, updated the Shopify store, and posted on Instagram. Within 12 hours, Bloom had crossed a million dollars in revenue. Its first million-dollar day. The next morning, instead of buying a Rolex or upgrading the apartment, he called their top manufacturer and placed a 50 percent down payment worth a million dollars for twice the inventory. ‘That’s the only reason the business was able to compound,’ he explained, ‘because the next time I had more inventory, the launch was even bigger.’ Bloom now crosses that million-dollar mark every single day. The bad days land at a million. That outcome only exists because he treated a good milestone as a stepping stone rather than a destination.
The same pattern showed up in his own body. Living in Boulder, Colorado, LaVecchia thought of himself as someone with serious discipline. Monday through Saturday, chicken and rice, no exceptions. Then Sunday arrived, and as he put it plainly: ‘I was literally eating 12 slices of pizza every single Sunday, plus everything on top of that.’ It took him two years to do the math and realize that bingeing once a week was functionally identical to blowing his entire week of progress. The six-pack he earned for a single annual vacation photo would vanish inside five days of eating. The lesson was not about pizza. It was about what one unchecked day can do to everything built before it.
Five things, twice a year, written in third person
The most transferable tactic LaVecchia has used since age 24 is deceptively simple. On New Year’s Day and on his birthday, March 27th, he writes five things he is going to change about himself and pins the note to the top of his iPhone notes. He writes them in third person. Things like: Greg is the type of person who does not hit snooze at 30 years old. He goes to the gym six days a week. He gets into the office at 8:30 every morning. Not aspirational affirmations. Descriptions of a specific person he is choosing to become. He now maintains separate versions of this list for professional Greg, father Greg, husband Greg, and son Greg. For anyone earlier in that process, he recommends starting with one list, five items, twice a year. ‘If you make three dramatic changes about who you are as a person twice a year for the next decade,’ he said, ‘in three years you’d be unrecognizable.’
His wife Mari called him out on the one blind spot this system did not catch on its own. Even as Bloom grew past 25 people and LaVecchia was, by his own assessment, a solid and accountable leader 29 days out of every month, he was getting sloppy drunk at team celebrations. Mari told him directly that he could not keep doing it as the CEO of a multi-million dollar company. He agreed, and he set a hard cap: three cocktails maximum at any dinner, never more. One move, he acknowledges, can negate 29 days of earned credibility.
The man who almost skipped the gym
The morning this was recorded, LaVecchia had just come back from the first workout class he had ever attended in his life, alongside Mari. He had never had a personal trainer. She, by his account, ‘kicked his ass.’ The accountability he describes now comes partly from his community online, where followers send him direct messages calling him out on days he does not post a morning gym video. For someone who spent years as a self-described solopreneur who did not share his journey with anyone, that external check has become one of the more surprising tools in his system.
A co-working desk in Brooklyn, rented on a morning with no expectations, still carries the weight of what was decided the day after.
