For as long as I can remember, I’ve carried a spark inside me—an unshakable drive to create, build, and bring ideas to life. Long before I even knew what the term “founder” meant, I felt an innate pull to take the impossible and make it real. It’s not something I chose; it’s something that chose me.
The term founder is interchangeable with many others—builder, creator, maker—but for some of us, it’s more than just an abstract title. It’s a spark within you that you can’t really shut off. And it’s not just pertinent to tech. It could be art, music, film—any medium with the power to shift the world.
Through my pespective, it feels like a higher consciousness embedded within you, a kind of programming that propels you forward. It’s waking up every day with a vision so vivid it feels like it’s already been written. And sometimes, I admit, it can border on delusion because, in our minds, this reality isn’t just possible—it’s inevitable. That inevitability doesn’t come from arrogance; it stems from questioning why the world doesn’t already work the way we see it in our minds.
We spend our lives trying to get others to read the book we’ve not only borrowed from the library of life but have already memorized. Every line, every sentence, every chapter is crystal clear to us, but the world doesn’t see it—at least, not immediately. That dissonance between what we see so vividly and what others can’t yet creates a constant battle to be understood.
What no one ever tells you about the future is this: the more you stay in, the faster time begins to occur in your current reality. The further you chase your vision, the harder it becomes to hold onto the present. You’re constantly living at the intersection of where you are and where you’re going. Finding that balance can feel like a lifelong battle—because it is. And yet, you can’t help what you’re wired to be.
It’s not just about the work—it’s about the cost.
The same force that drives creation also demands sacrifices, often consuming things you never meant to give up. The pursuit of a vision comes with moments of loneliness and misunderstanding. It affects your ability to build relationships and sustain them. It demands so much of you that there’s often little left for the people in your life. It’s a battle to stay present with loved ones when your mind is constantly racing ahead to the next idea, the next iteration, the next chapter. And yet, you keep going because you feel called to. You can’t help it—and very few spaces within traditional tech are built to give you the support you need through it, so you end up on a slippery slope.
This path, by nature, feels isolating. Especially when you grow up immersed in a culture where there weren’t many people who shared your perspective or aspirations. When you think differently, you often feel misunderstood, not just by the world but even by those closest to you. You start questioning if your vision is a blessing or a burden—and the truth is, it’s both.
But even in those moments of doubt, there’s clarity.
The relentless energy that isolates is also what connects. It lights the way for others who might be walking a similar path. It inspires people to dream bigger, to believe that impossible things can be made real. And in those rare moments when someone truly sees what you’re building, when they catch a glimpse of the vision that burns so vividly in your mind, it’s worth everything.
To create is to embrace this paradox: the deep joy of bringing something new into the world and the quiet ache of the sacrifices it inevitably demands for them to come to life. It’s knowing that the calling won’t let you stop, even when the cost feels high. It’s a constant negotiation between passion and balance, between what you’re creating and what you’re losing along the way.
This year, I’ve learned that enduring this journey isn’t just about resilience—it’s about making peace with the misunderstood parts of yourself. It’s about finding strength in solitude, purpose in chaos, and grace for the relationships that weather the storm alongside you.
The calling within me isn’t something I can quiet or control—I’ve tried my whole life, yet everywhere I go, there it is. It’s the pulse that keeps me moving forward. I know it, and the people around me know it. And maybe that’s the greatest challenge of all: to honor the vision without losing sight of the moments that make it worthwhile.
As I look ahead, I’m not just building for the future—I’m learning how and when to live fully in the present. What I do know is that this work fills me with purpose and allows me to bring new ideas into light. Several of those ideas are being poured into the work at Spatial Labs today—and I’m excited to share more in the coming year.
Here’s to a future where what we create doesn’t just exist—it matters.
“Live in the future, then build what’s missing.”
—Paul Graham
Soon,
Iddris Sandu