Ten years.
That's how long I'd been waiting to attend re:Invent. Ten years of watching from afar, reading live tweets, consuming session recordings days later, imagining what it would feel like to be there in person.
This year, AWS launched a grant program for User Group Leaders. After a decade of being part of AWS community, attending, volunteering, contributing and organising meet-ups, answering questions at midnight, showing up week after week and I finally got the grant.
I was on cloud nine. The long-awaited dream was finally happening.
But here's what they don't tell you about dreams coming true: they rarely arrive smoothly. There are always ups and downs, tests you didn't prepare for, moments that ask you to prove how badly you really want it.
Mine came twenty-four hours before takeoff.
Most re:Invent stories start with excitement—the kind you share in Slack channels and LinkedIn posts. Mine started with a phone screen lighting up in a London airport terminal.
The Call That Changed Everything
Twenty-four hours earlier, my wife wasn't feeling well. Still, she looked at me with that determined expression I've come to recognise over the years and said, "You finally got this chance. Go. Don't miss it. I'll handle everything here."
The weight of that sentence was the trust, the sacrifice, the quiet strength and it doesn't leave you. It becomes part of the journey itself.
I boarded my first flight trying to convince myself everything would be fine. The nervous energy of a first-time re:Invent attendee mixed with the worry of leaving home when things weren't perfect. But we'd made the decision. I was going.
Then came the message.
Waiting for my connection at Heathrow, surrounded by the usual airport chaos, my phone buzzed. The hospital. My son had fallen. Two fractures. One dislocation. His arm.
I called home immediately. My wife picked up, her voice steady as she walked me through what happened, what the doctors said, what came next. In the background, I could hear the sounds of the emergency room. And as we spoke, trying to process it all, I saw the airline staff closing the aircraft door.
Ten hours in the air where there was no no network. I was waiting for update but can’t do anything.
Just the hum of engines and one thought playing on repeat: How is she managing all this alone, when she herself isn't well?
That flight became a masterclass in helplessness. In recognising that behind every conference badge, every community contribution, every public achievement, there are people at home carrying half your world, sometimes more and so you can chase the other half.
When Your Mind Finally Lands
The moment my plane touched down in Las Vegas, I didn't care about the Strip or the spectacle. I needed that first call home to work. It did. Things were stable. My son was being treated. My wife was managing with the kind of strength that makes you realise you married someone far braver than yourself.
That's when I finally arrived. That had been in Vegas for hours. But my mind. My presence. My ability to actually be at re:Invent.
And from that point forward, everything shifted.
Meeting the People Who Build the Things I Build On
I talk about ECS and Serverless constantly from product builder point of view. The service I return to, the one I recommend, the one I've built my mental models around.
This week, I got to meet the people who actually build that home.
I sat in Eric's session on ECS Managed Instances—the kind of talk where you're not just learning features, you're learning intent. Why this approach? What problem were they really solving? What trade-offs did they consider?
I heard the ECS Express Mode introduction straight from the product person and engineer who crafted it. Not through blog posts or documentation, but from the humans who debated, prototyped, and shipped it.
And here's what hit me: you can read docs. I've read AWS docs all year—they've been my reference point for everything. But talking to the people who think about these problems day and night? Who live inside the trade-offs and the edge cases? That changes how you understand a service, not just what you know about it.
We exchanged ideas. We nerded out about container orchestration. We talked about real problems and real solutions.
For me, that alone justified the entire trip.
The Sessions That Stayed With Me
If I'm being honest, I probably covered 20% of expo area it and that's generous.
Instead, I planted myself in technical sessions. ECS. Fargate. How teams think about scaling at impossible sizes. Every session fed directly into my "AWS for Product Builders" mindset—the lens I use to evaluate whether something works for startups and growing companies, not just enterprises.
I'll share the specific technical learnings in another post. But the meta-learning is this:
Hearing the intent behind the service is as valuable as learning the service itself.
When you understand why a team made certain decisions, you make better decisions yourself.
From Slack Avatars to Real Conversations
The Community Hub became my anchor during the chaos.
This was my first re:Invent, and I walked in carrying a kind of shyness I don't usually admit to. The hesitation to start conversations with new people. The imposter syndrome that whispers everyone here knows more than you. The Hub was full of heroes. Community Builders whose blogs I'd read for years. Leaders whose work I admired from afar. People I'd wanted to meet but never had the chance.
And I froze.
I'd see them across the room and think, "I should go say hello." But my feet wouldn't move. One step—that's all it would take. But that one step felt impossible in those moments.
I missed talking to people I'd dreamed of meeting. I let opportunities slip by.
But I also pushed myself. Tiny steps. One introduction. One conversation. Then another. And something magical happened.
I met AWS User Group Leaders I'd known online for five years—people who felt like old friends even though we'd never shared the same room before.
I encountered new faces who somehow felt instantly familiar—the kind of connection that reminds you why community work matters in the first place.
One highlight was the User Group meeting Maria organized. UG leaders shared the real problems they faced and the ones that don't make it into polished LinkedIn posts. How they kept their communities engaged when attendance dropped. How they found speakers. How they dealt with burnout while trying to inspire others.
At the APJC Community Awards, I met a leader from the Philippines who completely shifted my perspective. For them, community isn't just networking or professional development—it's a lifeline. They shared how incredibly difficult it is to get things done there. The lack of resources. The infrastructure challenges. The uphill battle to create opportunities where few exist.
Yet they keep showing up. They keep building. They keep creating spaces where people can learn, connect, and grow—because for many in their community, these meetups represent access they simply wouldn't have otherwise.
Listening to their story made me realize how privileged my own challenges are. It reminded me that community work looks different across the world, and the impact it creates can be measured in opportunities that never would have existed.
But there was another moment—one I didn't expect to witness, and one I'll never forget.
Jeff Barr. Twenty years of unwavering commitment to the AWS community. Two decades of blog posts, of showing up, of giving back. The room gathered to honor this milestone, and what happened next was pure, unfiltered emotion.
His son, Stephen, stood up to share another side of Jeff—the father behind the community legend. Stories from childhood. How Jeff balanced being a dad with being the voice of AWS. The late nights writing. The early mornings answering questions. The way he somehow made space for both family and this massive community he'd built.We all watched Jeff cry. Not the polished, composed tears you see at rehearsed events. Real tears. The kind that come when you realise the full weight of what you've built and who stood beside you while you built it.
The room was silent except for a few sniffles. Goosebumps. That rare moment when everyone present knows they're witnessing something genuine.
If someone asked me to name one moment from re:Invent that captured what community really means—the sacrifice, the longevity, the human cost, the profound impact—it would be this one.
Those stories stayed with me long after the session ended.
Community-building isn't just planning events and posting updates. It's resilience. It's creativity. It's learning to keep showing up even when you're tired, even when you wonder if it matters, even when the metrics don't move as fast as you'd like.
The Startup Conversation I Needed
At the Startup Amped event, I found myself in the kind of conversations that don't happen at traditional networking sessions.
Founders talking about the messy parts. The pivots that felt like failures until they weren't. The risks that kept them up at night. The moment they landed their first customer. The second-guessing. The breakthroughs.
I shared what we're building at NuShift Connect and our mission to reshape health conversations, awareness, and community in India. How we're trying to fill gaps that the traditional healthcare system leaves open.
These weren't pitches.
They were "we've been there too" conversations.
They were "here's what I learned the hard way" exchanges.
And then the conversations went deeper.
People opened up about their health struggles. Family health crises that happened while they were trying to build their startups. The nights they sat in hospital waiting rooms while their pitch decks sat untouched on their laptops. The impossible choice between being present for a sick parent or showing up for an investor meeting.
When I shared what had happened with my son just hours before my flight, I saw heads nodding around the room. Not with pity—with recognition. These were founders who understood that life doesn't pause for your business plan. That sometimes your greatest test isn't in the market—it's in the hospital corridor.
That room felt less like a networking event and more like a circle of people who understand what it really costs to build something from nothing while life happens all around you.
The Hard Truth About re:Invent: You Can't Be Everywhere
Here's something nobody tells you before your first re:Invent: the event will force you to make impossible choices.The Community Builder mixer was happening at the same time as the Startup Amped event. I chose Startup Amped. Which meant I missed connecting with fellow builders in a space specifically designed for us. Did I regret it? In the moment, yes. Absolutely. But here's what I learned: re:Invent isn't about attending everything. It's not about having a perfect schedule or checking every box. It's about choosing what matters most to you right now, in this season of your journey, and showing up fully for that.
I missed events. I missed conversations. I missed people.
But what I didn't miss was being present for the choices I did make.
And sometimes, that's enough.
Two Experiences I Never Planned For
The Pre-re:Invent Hike
Before re:Invent officially began, there was the hike. Around 40–50 of us gathered, dividing into two teams: one for the medium route, one for the long and tough route. I chose medium. Seemed reasonable after jet lag and hours of travel. Turns out, "medium" was a generous label. The trail was challenging—longer and steeper than any of us expected. Our team actually reached the end later than the "tough route" group, which became a running joke for the rest of the day. But here's what made it memorable: we didn't just hike. We stopped. We breathed. We talked. Someone pulled out food they'd brought from home—snacks from India, treats from different countries. We shared them on the trail like we'd known each other for years. We tried different paths to test which route worked better. A mental exercise wrapped in physical movement. Problem-solving while hiking. Very builder-like, when you think about it. And the strangest part? After jet lag and a transatlantic flight, I didn't feel tired. The opposite, actually. The mountain air, the movement, the conversations and it all felt energising. Within minutes of starting, strangers opened up about their journeys. Career pivots. Burnout stories. The "I almost quit but..." moments that never make it to LinkedIn. That hike wasn't about reaching the summit. It was about connection, genuine, unexpected, and rare. The kind you can only find when you remove the conference badge and just walk alongside other humans trying to figure things out
My First-Ever 5K Run
I'd signed up for the 5K run weeks earlier. But somewhere in the chaos of re:Invent, I got confused about the day. Was it Thursday or Wednesday? Then a message popped up in our India community group. The run was happening. Right now. My heart sank. I was going to miss it. Another opportunity slipping away. But something in me said: not this time. I rushed out, found the shuttle bus, my mind racing faster than I'd be running. When I finally reached the starting point, the run had already begun. People were already on the course, their figures disappearing into the early morning light and strong cold was slapping on face and ear. I could have turned back. Found an excuse. Told myself I tried. Instead, I joined them mid-run. My first 5K run. Started late. Arrived breathless. Nothing spectacular about my time. But I showed up. Even when it would have been easier not to. A reminder that even in a heavy week, health doesn't wait for perfect timing and neither should we.
A Nomination That Meant More Than Winning
Somewhere in the middle of all this, I found out I'd been nominated for the second year in a row for the AWS Community Builder of the Year award.
I didn't win.
And honestly? That didn't matter.
Seeing my name there again was enough. Because I know what it took to reach this point. The late nights answering questions in forums. The blog posts written when I was exhausted. The community events organised on weekends.
More importantly, I know who stood behind me so I could do any of it.
The nomination wasn't just about me. It was about everyone who made space for me to contribute.
What This Trip Really Taught Me
This wasn't a smooth trip.
It wasn't a relaxed conference experience.
It wasn't the postcard version of re:Invent you see in highlight reels.
It was real.
It was emotional.
It stretched me in ways I'm still processing.
And above everything, it crystallised three truths I already knew but needed to feel again:
Family makes the journey possible.
Without my wife's and son strength, I wouldn't have made it past the first airport. Every community contribution I make is built on her and his foundation of support.
Community makes the journey meaningful.
The technical knowledge matters. But the connections, the shared struggles, the moment you realise someone else has fought the same battles—that's what transforms information into wisdom.
Curiosity makes the journey worth continuing.
Even exhausted, even worried, even uncertain—asking questions, seeking understanding, wanting to know why and how—that's what keeps us moving forward.
What Comes Next
I'll be sharing more detailed technical learnings soon. The ECS insights. The Fargate patterns. The "AWS for Product Builders" framework I'm developing. The kind of content I'm excited to give back to the community that's given me so much.
But for now, I'm sitting with gratitude.
For my wife, who made an impossible choice to let me go.
For my son, who's recovering with the resilience only kids seem to have.
For the people I met in Vegas who reminded me why this work matters.
For the moments that tested me and, in testing me, changed me.
My first re:Invent wasn't perfect.
But it was mine.
And sometimes, that's exactly what you need.
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