Reflection
I've lived most of my life in Ireland, and for years my world revolved around school, competition, and proving myself. I was deeply competitive in high school, not just academically but in anything that felt like a challenge. I loved environments where effort compounded, where putting in more work actually translated into results. That mindset turned into a full grind during the Leaving Cert years. I pushed myself hard and came out with results I'm still proud of. Getting into Imperial College London felt like validation. It proved to me that if I committed fully, I could operate at a high level.
At that point, my definition of success was straightforward: get into a great university, perform well, secure a strong job. That framework made sense to me. Until it didn’t.
The summer of my final year, I took a road trip across the US while visiting my cousins. Something shifted. I liked a lot about America, but California stood out. The energy felt different. People openly talked about building things, taking risks, and aiming high. Not as distant dreams, but as things they were actively doing. It felt optimistic. Ambitious. Normal, in a way that surprised me. I didn’t fully understand it at the time, but that trip expanded my sense of what was possible and planted a seed that would surface later.
University started well, and living in London was exhilarating. I tried a lot of new things. Things really changed when I met people deeply immersed in the startup world. I had always had the idea of building my own company in the back of my mind, but suddenly it felt tangible. I jumped in quickly, probably too quickly, and built two startups that failed. They didn’t fail quietly. They exposed gaps in my thinking, execution, and expectations. Still, I kept building.
Around that time, a friend told me to apply to YC AI SUS with barely two days before the deadline. I applied without much expectation and wasn’t even sure I would go if I got in. Somehow I did. Choosing to go was one of the most important decisions I’ve made so far.
That experience changed me. I was dropped into an environment operating at a completely different speed and intensity. Building ambitious technology wasn’t exceptional there. It was normal. The people around me thought bigger, moved faster, and treated failure as information rather than a verdict. Being in that room recalibrated how I thought about success. It became less about external milestones and more about growth, leverage, and who I was becoming in the process.
I spent the rest of that summer trying to recreate that momentum. I attended hackathons, went to events, and interned at a startup where I learned a lot about software engineering in real-world settings. I also learned to drive and got my full licence. It sounds small, but it felt symbolic. A tangible step toward independence.
When second year began and I moved into EIE, everything clicked. For the first time, I genuinely loved every module I was studying. I stopped learning just to perform and started learning out of curiosity. I learned so much more, not because I had to, but because I wanted to.
Throughout all of this, the startup world kept pulling me back, mostly because of the people. I’ve been lucky to meet builders, thinkers, and founders who’ve shaped how I see both technology and ambition. From hackathons, especially those run by AI Engine, to being accepted into the AI Engine Room as a solo founder, each experience reinforced the same feeling: this is where I belong.
That week was transformative. It pulled me back into the London tech scene and reminded me why I care about building in the first place. More recently, building at Imperial IdeaForge, attending the YC–Imperial talk, and having a 1:1 conversation with a YC partner clarified the direction I want to move in. Not because I suddenly have all the answers, but because I’m asking better questions.
Looking ahead, I don’t expect a clean or linear path. I’ll probably fail multiple times before I get things right, and I’m okay with that. What matters to me now isn’t avoiding failure. It’s compounding effort, learning quickly, and raising my own standards. My definition of success has shifted again. It’s no longer just about building something impressive. It’s about becoming someone capable of building something truly meaningful.
Giving up isn’t an option for me. Not because things will always go well, but because progress has always come from staying in the game.
Life hasn’t unfolded the way I once imagined. What surprises me is that I’m completely fine with that. The unpredictability has been the most rewarding part. Each year has taken me somewhere I couldn’t have planned, introduced me to people I wouldn’t have otherwise met, and forced me to rethink what success even means.
As I’m writing this, I turn 20 tomorrow. I’m proud of what I’ve built, learned, and unlearned so far. I’m even more excited for what my twenties will demand of me, not just in terms of achievement, but in who I become along the way. The path will keep changing. That part is out of my control. What isn’t is the choices I make. Those compound. I won’t get everything right, but I’ll choose deliberately, learn fast, and keep moving forward.
