The reason I believe my startup will leave a legacy starts every August… at McDonald’s.
When my family came to the U.S. as refugees, we marked our first year in America with a trip to McDonald’s — the first time we could afford a meal out. For us, it felt like a five-star restaurant. And every August since, we’ve gone back. The food is addictive, sure, but what we’re really chasing is perspective. To remember how far we’ve come, and how much further there is to go.
That tradition reminds me of the Haggadah read for millennia at Passover: each generation must see itself as if it personally came out of Egypt. The wisdom is timeless: never forget the struggle, and never forget the possibility of change.
So I did what you’re supposed to do in my new “promised land,” America. I followed the overachiever playbook. Wharton undergrad. Microsoft. Consulting. Stanford MBA. Salesforce. SuccessFactors/SAP. On paper, I belonged.
But under the surface, I was never wired to just follow the script. As a kid in the Soviet Union, I devoured books that helped me imagine escape. Jules Verne was my favorite — adventures, inventions, dreams of travel and of France. (So maybe it’s no surprise I ended up marrying a French girl… which, frankly, is a cultural adventure in itself.)
That contrarian streak never left. In consulting, I hacked my way into working abroad when the “safe” move was staying put. Before GSB, I co-founded a startup with a quick exit — lucky, but enough to give me a taste of building I couldn’t forget. After school, I backpacked the world while classmates signed respectable corporate offers. Later, I bet on “boring” SaaS before it was obvious — joining Salesforce and SuccessFactors pre-IPO. Different chapters, same instinct: don’t just follow the path — build a new one.
Even Silicon Valley, for all its talk of disruption, has its own conformity — the same podcasts, the same Teslas, the same founder archetype. For a while I tried to play along. But the truth is, I wasn’t built to fit in. I was built to build my own path.
Then came fatherhood. People told me: “You can’t be a founder and have kids.” I’ve heard it plenty. But for me, kids weren’t the obstacle; they were the reason. They’ve raised me as much as I’ve raised them. If I want them to be brave, to live with integrity, I can’t just tell them how. I have to show them.
Civilization only moves forward when knowledge isn’t just passed down, but actually used. From stories told around fires, to the printing press, to the internet — every leap forward was about giving the next generation something they could build on.
Now we’re living through another leap. AI isn’t magic — it’s just another test. Everyone’s talking about AI like it’s the future. But the future isn’t about generating more noise. It’s about creating traditions and systems that make knowledge usable, trusted, and lasting. That’s where we’re focused.
And that, to me, is the real work of both founders and parents: knowing when to break the rules, and which traditions to build. It’s not about hype, or perfection. It’s about leaving something behind that endures — a company, a family, a set of values. Something your kids, and their kids, can point to and say: this mattered.
Startups and parenting aren’t straight lines. They lurch forward, they stall, they pivot, they nearly break. But each stumble teaches you. You only lose when you stop showing up.
At some point, you stop waiting for the perfect time. You realize no one is coming to save you. Fear is the only real thief — and the only way through it is forward.
That’s my mission:
To take grit, risk-taking, and a lifetime of learning — and build something that breaks old rules, but creates traditions strong enough to last.
Not to impress others. Not for applause. Not to fit in. But to build something my kids — and the world — might one day look at and say: this mattered.
My personal wisdom is simple: kids raise parents. Startups raise founders. Both force you to grow up.
And every August, we still go back to McDonald’s. To remind ourselves that we started with almost nothing — and that even the smallest beginnings, with grit and perspective, can grow into something built to last for generations.