I am not quite sure how to start this. How do I capture the essence of this year?

2024 — the year of unexpected friendships, programming bootcamps, startups, and failure? Or the year of crowded metros, lonely nights, marathons, brotherhood, martial arts, writing and artificial Intelligence?

This is a long article, and for convenience sake, here are the main chapters:

1. Introduction
2. 42 Vienna - The Piscine
3. Digital Innovation Lab
4. First marathon
5. Routine, VR and startup stories
6. Failure, uncertainty and changes
7. My 25th birthday
8. Death and Alzheimer
9. OMV and Artificial Intelligence
10. New ideas
11. Conclusion

Introduction

Looking back at 2024, I struggle to put into words how deeply it changed me, what it meant to me. So much happened—more than I could keep track of. From start to finish, I believe it was the most transformative year of my life so far.

Time slipped through my fingers faster than I could grasp it. Perhaps this is simply part of growing up—or perhaps not. I'm grateful that more than two years ago, I started writing daily, in an earnest attempt to capture time's fleeting moments and occasionally pause to reflect on my life, putting everything into perspective. There's something surreal about traveling back in time through your journals, reliving memories through the countless words on their pages. We humans often tend to try and reshape our memories, to alter our past and soften the harsh edges of reality, as well as the consequences of our choices.

Writing becomes your most sincere friend when you truly open your heart to it. It never lies or softens the truth to spare your feelings. Yet to open your heart to writing, you must first be brave. You must take a leap of faith and welcome it into the hidden corners of your world that no one else sees. Like with most things in life, once you find the courage to take that leap of faith, new paths reveal themselves. For me, these paths offered a chance to better understand not only myself but also the world around me—and in the process, become a better human being. Or so I hope.

42 Vienna - The Piscine

One of the events that shaped the trajectory of my year was the decision to join 42 Vienna in early February, participating in "The Piscine"—or as some might know it, an intensive one-month programming bootcamp in C. Why on earth would I choose to spend a month programming in C, especially when I was mostly doing web development? Well, that's a great question, isn't it?

I began programming intensively in early 2023 (pretty much daily for more than 200 days), driven by some weird desire to understand technology and build things that could make the world a better place. For over a year, I spent all of my free time to learning and coding—during late nights at the library, university breaks, holidays, boring lectures and so on. Back then I never imagined I would end up joining a university for programming, but life works in mysterious ways. I never thought I’d start programming to be honest, neither did my friends.

I discovered 42 by chance while participating in a NASA hackathon at their headquarters, during late 2023. At first glance, it seemed like some form of a weird cult—sleep-deprived people sitting motionless, eyes fixed on their screens for hours. During the hackathon though, I met some of the students. When I told them about my programming journey, they encouraged me to give 42 a try.

In late January, just days before the bootcamp was to begin and after several frustrating job interviews, I decided to give it a go. While I'll save the full details for another article, I must say the Piscine was one of the most challenging, difficult and fun months of my life. But what made the experience truly special was the people—they showed me how important the right connections are in our lives. These were the kind of people who could make you laugh uncontrollably on your way home at 2 AM after 15 straight hours of programming, leaving you grinning like a teenager after their first date. The Piscine brought together talented individuals from all walks of life, each trying to forge a new path while hardcore programming for a month.

The bootcamp was structured across four weeks, with each Friday culminating in a six-hour exam—the final one stretching to eight hours. The program is based on peer to peer learning, which means that you review others people code to progress, and other people need to review your broken code too. We coded in plain C using Vim, without any libraries, while facing a code checker more annoying than any professor I'd ever encountered. The journey began with Linux basics, shell terminal commands, and file permissions, before progressing to C programming in Vim and exploring fundamental data structures and algorithms. After the final exam came the wait of a few weeks to learn whether you'd made it in, or not. It’s also worth mentioning that during the month, students had the freedom to organize their own events, and I seized this opportunity to lead my first meditation sessions—something I had always dreamed of doing.

I wasn’t quite sure if I want to continue with the program afterwards, as I was already pursuing a full-time master's at the University of Vienna and had recently been accepted into a digital innovation lab that I was very eager to join. Yet when the admission letter arrived, I decided to take a chance and see where it might lead.

And this was the exact moment—the beginning of March 2024—when my life shifted into high gear, full throttle, no safety belt. And as if that wasn't enough, around the same time, my brother and I signed up for the Vienna Marathon. Go team go!

I met too many amazing people during this month to mention them all, but I'm grateful for each and every one of them, and I thank them for making this experience unforgettable.

Special mentions to: Vlad, Adrian, Christoph, July, Teo, Alejandro, Adam, Dyonises, Teo, Nestor, Anastasia, Darius, Florian, May and all the rest.

Digital Innovation Lab

March turned out to be the craziest month of my life. Not only was I admitted into both 42 and the digital iLab, but university classes resumed, and I was training for a marathon on top of it all. The changes came so rapidly that I barely had time to process them. I collected keycards like souvenirs—one for 42 on Muthgasse street, another for the iLab on Apostelgasse street, and one for the University on Oskar-Morgenstern street—yet ironically, or not, no keycard for my personal life. My days became a blur of rushing between locations from 6 AM to 11 PM, navigating packed U-bahn stations and rooms filled with exhausted students.

But what exactly was the digital iLab? Let me share their official description:

The digital innovation lab is an educational programme of the University of Vienna where participants learn the main tools and principles of entrepreneurship through a structured process. After an introductory phase, participants build start-up teams of 2 to 4 people to develop compelling business models. Course instructors mentor them at every step as they transform an initially rough idea into a mature business concept. At the end of the programme, start-up teams pitch their business idea to a jury of business experts.

The program's concept is simple: you either bring your own startup idea (as I did) or develop one during the course. After forming teams, you embark on the “exciting” journey of building a startup in a supportive, more relaxed, academic environment. The program was led by Marco and Clara, two extraordinary mentors and wonderful human beings who went above and beyond to support us, showing almost infinite patience with a couple of brats like us. The curriculum featured near-daily lectures and training sessions on topics including:

• Innovation & Leadership for Innovation
• Business Model Canvas and Minimum Viable Product (MVP)
• Strategy, Competition, and Market Analysis
• Team Dynamics & Team Profiles
• Prototyping
• Large Language Models (LLMs) & Data Science
• Digital Ethics
• Mixed Reality: Virtual Reality & Augmented Reality
• Financial Modeling
• Legal Considerations
• Pitch Training

The trainings run parallel with the startup work alongside your new teammates. In my case, I worked with Artemi, an Estonian, and Adelina, a Russian. The core idea for our tech startup was a mobile application that could connect people based on proximity and shared interests. It would allow users to join groups on the spot and interact, play games, create study groups while sitting alone in a coffee shop or library, join a volleyball match on the beach while traveling through Barcelona, or just drink a beer during a sunset with a stranger. The motivation for the project came from the growing loneliness epidemic of recent years and the challenge of meeting new people in urban areas. Our app would have used the digital environment as a quick bridge to real-world connections. Having personally struggled to connect and make friends after moving to Vienna, I was deeply passionate about the idea and determined to make it succeed. It didn’t happened but that’s a different story.

The iLab proved quite demanding, especially running alongside 42, which turned out to be even more challenging than I'd anticipated. Time flew by, and before I knew it, March was drawing to a close. I met some wonderful people and learned a lot—and believe it or not, the journey wasn’t over yet.

First marathon

As March slowly ended, the initial sparkle and wonder of these new experiences gradually faded into routine, as all things do. My days followed a relentless pattern: wake up, get dressed, train or run, arrive late to the early iLab classes, consume inhuman amounts of coffee, participate in lectures, work on startup thingy stuff, rush to Uni, get bored really fast, head to 42, get stuck in overcrowded metros, drink even more coffee cause’ what can go wrong (or meditate), attempt to sit down and focus on C programming, question my existence and the Universe, catch the last midnight train home, collapse into bed—then do it all again. Somehow, I thought that adding dating to this chaos would be a brilliant idea. Focusing and prioritizing proved far more challenging than I'd imagined. When life moves at breakneck speed, you make mistakes and rarely find time to think clearly. Yet stubbornness drives you to pursue everything at once, refusing to let go, even when you know you should prioritize and abandon some pursuits before losing your mind completely and deciding to join a buddhist monastery.

Among all the events happening, one experience stood out as particularly unique: the Vienna Marathon. It might sound ridiculous, but I started training for a marathon because of a bet with my brother—that's the honest truth. At the end of the year, we made this stupid bet that led to him purchasing tickets for the mid-April marathon, which ultimately motivated us to start running occasionally. The timing of our training makes it even more absurd, but honesty is important here. While we planned to start serious trainings in January, I fell ill and didn't fully recover until month's end. Then came the bootcamp, and suddenly the reality of the challenge loomed before us. This makes it just two months until the event when we both began training, running whenever possible, which makes the whole thing even more stupid. To make matters more interesting, I was a regular smoker (though quite active), and my brother was overweight (and not very active). But here's where things took an unexpected turn for the better. My brother invited one friend to join us, then another, then I brought in a friend of mine. Soon we had a group chat where we shared our achievements and disappointments (with the latter being more frequent). Though we barely knew each other, we were united by a common goal: finish the Vienna Marathon, no matter what. And so we began, step by step, mile by mile. While I'd love to say running was an enlightening experience, having covered over 100km in our first month, I can definitely say it was more like enlightening pain.

As April approached, we intensified our running and I quit smoking (again). The night before the marathon, I stood with the group checking the weather forecast: 4 degrees at start time, with a chance of rain. Doubts crept in. What had we gotten ourselves into? Could we actually do this? Why were we even attempting it? The challenge loomed before us—tomorrow we would run 42 km and push past our limits.

When our friends arrived at our doorstep the next morning, we greeted them with confident smiles. Though the air was freezing, there was no rain, and dawn was breaking. We grabbed our protein bars and minerals, mustered our courage, and stepped outside. Fortune seemed to favor us—the day promised to be bright and sunny.

We made our way to the starting line, surrounded by thousands of people dancing, screaming, hugging their loved ones, stretching, and praying for the best. This was it—the moment of truth. When the start signal came, we finally began running. The first 10km flew by as we lost ourselves in the buzzing atmosphere, caught up in an energy that felt almost like a high. With headphones in and playlist hitting, it was time to run, boy, run. Around the 12km mark, I unexpectedly caught up with one of my friends. We ran together until the half-marathon point, where we exchanged smiles and parted ways. Those first 21km felt effortless, passing like a breeze. Then the real challenge began: my body started feeling tired, my feet began to hurt. Only half left to go.

I knew from one of my previous long runs of 32km that the pain would start after 28km, and I would just have to keep pushing forward until it passed. At 25km, I was still feeling fine, optimistic, and energetic. But everything changed after I entered Prater Park, and the mental battle began. Halfway through the park, my legs became heavy, and every step felt like needles pushing through my skin. It was excruciating—a pain I'd never felt before—a battle between my body begging to give up and my mind commanding me to keep going. I was still on track, but I knew I had to maintain my pace to finish under four and a half hours. Between kilometers 32 and 35, I fought a mental battle I never imagined possible. Memories, struggles, relationships, heartbreaks, disappointments, ambitions, dreams, and the desire to achieve my goal all pushed me forward. That day, I learned that pain is temporary, and if you push through it, great things await on the other side. So that's exactly what I did. I changed my playlist and started sprinting toward the finish line. If I was going down, I'd go down in style. It felt like my willpower seized control of my body, forcing it to obey. And so I sprinted the final 7km.

Crossing the finish line was a surreal experience. I was freezing and exhausted, with no sign of my brother. I found one of my friends—the fastest one—who told me that one of us had fallen ill and stopped at the halfway mark. But my brother was still out there, somewhere, pressing on. Then I understood—while accomplishing a challenging goal alone feels incredible, sharing that achievement with loved ones is truly extraordinary. With my brother still running, we backtracked a few kilometers to find him and cheer him toward the finish line. When he finally crossed it, despite my complete exhaustion, I felt an overwhelming sense of pride, brotherhood, and accomplishment. This journey wasn't really about running at all—it was about people, connections, and our shared human struggles. It was about pushing past our limits, together. It was a magnificent day indeed!

Special thanks to: Serban, George, Alin, Alex and Eszter!

You are absolute legends!

Routine, VR and startup stories

After the marathon, in early May, life settled back into its rhythm. I was constantly moving between places—programming, attending lectures, working on the startup, and building my website. The latter came from a growing frustration with doing only C programming while technology was rapidly evolving around me. It was an intense period, and cracks began to show. 42's environment started feeling off—my friends were dropping out, the rest of the students were kinda weird and the curriculum felt too restrictive, rather than creative and engaging. I originally started coding because I loved trying to create things and bring the ideas inside my head to life. Now I had to force myself to attend daily and complete the required projects, review code and rewrite it multiple times so an algorithm is satisfied. University followed a similar pattern, though I engaged mainly in classes that captured my interest: Financial Analysis, Law, Behavioral Economics, and a few others. The iLab, however, was different. Every day brought something exciting, the people were fantastic, and the energy was on point. For the first time since arriving in Vienna, I felt like I was in the the right place for a while. Around mid-month, a friend lent me a Meta Quest 2 headset, and I was instantly absorbed. Though I'd been interested in Mixed Reality before, I'd never had the chance to properly explore it until then. This sparked a complete new passion for me, Mixed Reality and its current and future possibilities.

In early June, I finished my website built with Next.js and published my first articles along with several programming projects. Around this time, the startup project began deteriorating—I faced my first experience with a dysfunctional team. Conflicts arose frequently among teammates, accompanied by a lack of responsibility and motivation to progress. Though I gradually realized this might not succeed as planned, I remained stubbornly determined to pus on until the program's end and the pitch presentation in early July. Financial pressure began to slowly creep in as well. Despite all my activities, I wasn't generating any income and my savings were running low. I needed a job, but my stubbornness kept me from quitting. Before I knew it, I felt overwhelmed—even meditation couldn't ease the weight of everything happening. Around this same time, I fell seriously ill, developing a persistent and long lasting cough that would wake my neighbors in the middle of the night, if nothing else besides would.

I found myself uncertain about my next steps or what the future held, and my personal life seemed nonexistent.

Failure, uncertainty and changes

The beginning of July brought a heatwave along with the end of the iLab program, university, and our startup. We decided to stop and move on—one of my colleagues was returning to Estonia, and I was too financially stressed and tired to continue alone without a team or resources. Suddenly, everything stopped, and months of work seemed to evaporate into thin air. With free time again, I felt lost after four months of nonstop activity. I turned my focus to 42 and completing projects I hadn't been able to prioritize during June. I also concentrated on applying for tech jobs, attending industry meetups, writing small articles, learning Ai stuff, and training in Muay Thai. Yet having time felt overwhelming and intensely lonely. Almost everyone I knew had left for summer break, leaving just me and a few other 42 students, daydreaming by the window while debugging code as others enjoyed their summer outside.

Job interview after job interview, rejection letter after rejection letter, a deep sense of failure began to creep in. I won’t sugarcoat it—the entire experience sucked, and it sucked a lot. My days blurred together, filled with rejection emails and lonely hours of coding in front of the screen.

I had plenty of time to reflect on the lessons learned over the past few months—all the incredible experiences and amazing people I'd encountered. While grateful for everything, I still felt deeply demoralized and uncertain about what lay ahead.

At the end of July, I decided to return home for my 25th birthday to make sense of my life and everything that had happened. Around the same time, I started questioning whether 42 was actually a good fit for me and whether I could see myself there in the future.

Special thanks to: Marco, Clara and everyone at the iLab + the friends from 42

My 25th birthday

I arrived back home in August, after too many interviews and too many generic rejection letters that tested all my stoicism. I was lost and didn't know what to do. Beyond that, I felt like a complete failure and couldn't express it to the people around me—admitting failure meant facing reality. And there was this new feeling I'd never really experienced before: anger. But I wasn't sure what I was angry about. Was it directed at myself, at the world, or perhaps both?

Being 25 sure feels weird. I really imagined life being very different now. But that’s alright. That’s life I suppose.

There's a voicemail I left for myself on my birthday—one that captures this entire article, the whole year as well as the past ones: the dreams and ambitions, desires, disappointments, long nights, unexpected friendships, and hard-won achievements. Just as with writing, we tend to forget things, especially those moments we'd rather not remember. One reason I'm writing this is as a reminder for myself, and maybe as consolation for someone else going through something similar who needs to know they're not alone, that others experience these same struggles and somehow survive. I believe honesty is important, even if it isn't as valued as it once was. It seems nowadays everyone pretends to be something else—people don't care about honesty anymore. Social media amplifies this, especially for the younger generation. Working hard isn't sexy; it can be boring, lonely, and completely exhausting. More often than not, you might fail even if you tried your best. That's life, isn't it? So we could use more honesty, more people being authentic and sharing their journeys through life. I don't feel comfortable sharing these experiences, but I've learned that discomfort helps us grow, while comfort keeps us in the same spot our entire life.

There were many things I'd set out to achieve by 25. Some of them happened, some didn't. Sometimes I got lost; other times I found my way when least expected. The overall feeling of turning 25 was a mix of disappointment, exhaustion, and pride. I had written a list of things I wanted to achieve by 25, and it was the first time in a while I took a hard look at it again. Questions and doubts surfaced about all the those dreams and ambitions that didn't materialize. Did I try my best? Did I give it my all to make those dreams come true? Being completely honest with myself for a few minutes, I had to accept that I didn't really try my best—at least not persistently. There were times I lost my way, changed trajectory, or started completely new chapters in my life, jumping into the sea hoping I'd learn how to swim, or at least float for a while. But I tried, and that took me way further than not trying.

Though I hadn't achieved everything I wanted, I had grown and evolved significantly compared to where I was five years ago. There's little value in dwelling on the past—what's done is done. The best we can do is learn from it and move forward. With one chapter of my life closing, I wondered what the next one would bring. I spent over a month at home reflecting, brainstorming ideas , planning my next steps, and applying to jobs while sketching out various personal and professional projects. Time slipped away faster than expected, and I still felt uncertain about my path forward. I knew I wanted to start something of my own again, but the direction wasn't clear. Meanwhile, the practical reality loomed in: I needed a job to pay rent, yet my applications kept getting rejected.

While reflecting further, I began to understand how much failure and rejection teach us, and how essential they are in everyone's journey—just as Joseph Campbell describes in his book "The Hero's Journey." Campbell outlines three vital stages: separation, initiation, and return. Unlike stories, though, we cycle through these stages multiple times throughout our lives, sometimes obviously and sometimes subtly. Our life choices define us, and our failures test our determination to complete the journey. So do not despair, and I'll share this quote:

Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night.”

Dylan Thomas

Death and Alzheimer

Soon after my 25th birthday, my grandmother, who had Alzheimer's, fell ill again and had to be hospitalized. This time it seemed to be the last time—that she might finally be able to rest. It was a long and difficult battle, both for her and everyone who cared for her, especially her two daughters, who went above and beyond human limits over the years to care for her no matter what. That's a form of love that movies never show us: two daughters caring for their sick mother year after year while she gradually stops recognizing them and loses her cognitive and motor functions. Daughters who spend night after night in empty hospitals, in a never-ending battle of patience and love. There are many forms of pain and suffering in this world, but watching your loved ones slowly decay until they forget who you are it’s an excruciating one. I'll always remember the pain in my mother's eyes as she held my grandmother's hand, knowing she would soon be gone. We grow up idolizing TV stars and politicians whom we never meet, while the true superheroes might be right beside us. They're the ones who fight day after day, who love and care patiently without asking for anything in return. The heroes without capes, without superpowers, without any desire for recognition. Just people—beautiful people.

My grandma was a joyful person, always singing, laughing, or smiling. When she first learned of her illness, her immediate concern was for her daughters and how difficult it would be for them. She fought bravely for countless years until one late August day, when she finally took her last breath and found her peace. Funerals are dark and somber occasions filled with tears and grief for those we've lost. But while saying a final goodbye is always painful, these moments also allow us to celebrate the life and cherish the memories of those who touched our lives. Death is just another journey—one to wondrous and unknown lands, and one can only smile upon the start of yet another adventure.

Alzheimer's is a cruel disease that teaches us profound lessons about life, about it’s profound depths and truths, and the way we perceive it. When we're young, we live as if we're immortal, rarely pausing to reflect or appreciate those around us, failing to grasp how fleeting our relationships and experiences truly are. We never seem to have enough time—until one day, when our bones are tired and our years have passed, we look back at our lives and nod silently, remembering all those we've met and everything we've lived through.

The disease serves as a stark reminder that neither our time nor memories are guaranteed—every breath we take is precious. It also teaches us that good people don't always get happy endings, nor do the wicked always face justice. Life moves in mysterious ways that often seem unfair to those of us living through it.

OMV and Artificial Intelligence

In early September, after my grandma's funeral, I received an opportunity for a full time IT Strategy internship at OMV's main office in Vienna. While unsure what to expect, I saw it as a great chance to expand my IT knowledge and explore topics such as Artificial Intelligence and Enterprise Architecture. I took the opportunity and joined the team in early October, packing my bags and returning to Vienna once again—balancing both the internship and my remaining university studies.

I quickly found myself in a new corporate environment, with numerous new topics to learn. While I plan to write a separate article about my ongoing experience at OMV, my work has primarily focused on IT strategy, AI (specifically GenAI and implementing various use cases across departments), Enterprise Architecture, and some aspects of ITSM, Vendor, and Portfolio Management. This transition marked my first corporate role in almost three years.

Special thanks to: Michael and Lex for giving me a chance.

New ideas

In mid-October, while sharing a hot coffee on a rainy day with my friend Vlad from 42, I mentioned my desire to work on a side project again and perhaps build something interesting. What started as casual brainstorming sessions over a few weeks surprisingly led to an idea we both found as a real problem, in an industry we were both interested in. We began dedicating most of our free time to exploring whether we could bring this idea to life and figuring out how to execute it. Time flew by quickly—the internship was interesting with plenty to learn and do, the project was quickly developing and University was still University.

Things started developing into the beginning of December, when our team quickly expanded to four people, we got an office space, more stuff needed to be done than ever, and Christmas was just around the corner and I hadn’t bought any gifts for my family. I have to admit, my sleep schedule took yet another major hit, and my energy levels struggled to keep up with the lifestyle.

Conclusion

As 2024 drew to a close, I found myself struggling to process the abundance of experiences. The year challenged me in unprecedented ways—from the sleepless nights at 42' to the digital innovation lab and balancing university life, to facing startup failures, writing, dating, fighting, completing a marathon, and losing my grandmother. It was, without a doubt, a crazy year.

The year taught me that transformation isn't always comfortable or predictable. Sometimes it comes through failure, sometimes through loss, and sometimes through unexpected opportunities. What matters most is how we respond to these moments – whether we let them defeat us or use them as stepping stones for growth.

As Dylan Thomas wrote, "Rage, rage against the dying of the light." Life is too precious to live half-heartedly or to let our dreams fade quietly into the night. Here's to embracing whatever comes next, with courage, curiosity, and an open heart.

Key Learnings from 2024 (my secret passion for lists)

• Embrace change and uncertainty
• Learn to maintain work-life balance (when possible)
• Learn to prioritize
• Value authenticity
• Cherish time with loved ones
• Persist through failures
• Pursue meaningful projects
• Discipline triumphs everything else

Special thanks to: all my friends, both old and new.

You are truly appreciated!