It took me a while to find a proper title. I first went with "I don't want to be a manager," but that wasn't quite right.
I started my journey into tech when I turned 18, not because I hated university or because I thought I was better or smarter than others. Instead, I've always been a firm believer that everyone has a learning method that "clicks" for them, and for me, it's always been through building.
I remember the day at my first job when I developed a script from scratch that would parse off-boarding documents and automatically create tickets. I built a tool that saved help desk agents valuable time on a task they had to do daily (and which everyone hated doing, too). It took me quite a bit to get it done. It was ugly, verbose, and the UX was so bad you needed training just to use it. But it worked. It actually worked, and to this day, I thank my managers for entrusting me with it.
I remember watching them, a small group gathered around the screen, their faces lighting up as the tool automatically created the tickets. It was in that moment, seeing their relief and knowing my code had made their day a little easier, that a spark ignited inside me. I was hungry for more.
"What's more?" That's the question I kept asking myself since that day, and it blinded me.
I've been on a career rollercoaster since then and tried it all (and failed, too):
Moving to Berlin to be the CTO of a Series A startup. It was the best period of my career for my development.
Moving to Switzerland and building apps for a Zurich-based accelerator.
Going back home and onboarding at Deloitte.
Through all of it, I had ups and downs in my motivation, and I was never able to explain why. I tried to link it to my ADHD, and while that helped, it wasn't the whole story.
This all came to a head two years ago when it really put me in a dark spot. I couldn't understand why I didn't feel as motivated anymore, even though programming was the only thing I truly enjoyed, career-wise. It was a weird mental puzzle to solve. The feeling was a heavy one. I'd sit at my desk, looking at a problem I knew how to solve, but the energy just wasn't there. It felt like I was going through the motions, a passenger in my own career. It made me question everything.
Two years ago, I started contributing to open-source projects again, either on existing projects or by publishing my own software. This coincided with a new project I started working on at Deloitte with people I felt I could genuinely have an impact on. No shallow interactions, no forced meetings—just raw conversations without filler, and everyone genuinely enjoying each other's presence while working on a cool new project.
That's when it hit me. That was it.
It's not that I don't enjoy being a manager. It’s that I didn't want to be pulled in a direction at my job where I was no longer a programmer. But I also didn't want to be pulled in a direction where I wasn't a leader either.
I enjoy the building process, whether it's leading a development team through the building cycle, helping other developers grow, finding what "clicks" for my teammates' productivity and helping them nurture it, or developing software where creative solutions aren't stifled.
People and Building. This realization has changed how I approach my work. It's not just about writing code; it's about helping my team find their "click," building tools that make a real difference for them, and fostering a space where we can create cool things together. For me, the truest form of programming isn't just a solo task—it's a shared act of creation with awesome people that foster(premium corporate word I learned) genuine interactions.
tldr; I got blinded by success and had an identity crisis because I forgot why I started it all. It’s about cool people and building.
Thanks for attending my TED Talk.
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