A Conversation

Eight minutes into the most important ten minutes of my life… I screamed at the CEO of Y Combinator.

“My niece has been living with us for six months and it’s fucking killing me.”

That’s not something startup founders are supposed to say.

—

My partner and I had built a startup called giya. It was supposed to help people connect… think walking tours in cities.

And somehow we made it to the infamous Y Combinator interview.

If you don’t know YC, it’s basically startup Olympics. Ten minutes, no slides, just you in a room getting grilled by people who have already decided if your idea sucks or not.

So we walk in.

And the first thing I notice is that the room is smaller than I expected. Like… uncomfortably small. There’s this long plastic folding table, and behind it are three partners. Laptops open, papers everywhere.

Michael Seibel is in the middle. He’s the founder of Twitch.tv and the CEO of YC.

He’s taller than I expected.

My heart is racing.

We sit down, quick intros, and then they just start.

And almost immediately… it’s not landing.

They keep asking some version of the same question:

“What does this actually do?”

And we’re answering. We’re trying. But every answer just kind of… lands flat.

Michael is calm. Almost kind.

Which somehow makes it worse.

Because he’s just gently dismantling everything we say.

And I can feel it slipping.

Like… we’re already eight minutes into a ten-minute interview, and I don’t think they understand what we built.

And that’s what’s driving me crazy.

Not that they disagree.

It’s that they don’t even get it.

I pride myself on being able to tell a story.

And I can’t even explain my own.

—

Then there’s a knock at the door.

And that’s when it hits me.

We’re almost out of time.

My partner is still talking, trying to land something, and I’m just… staring at the floor.

And I can feel it in my body. My chest is tight, my fists are clenched.

Because the truth is,

this thing we built…

it wasn’t really about cities.

It wasn’t really about tours.

—

My niece had been living with us for six months.

She’s not a kid anymore. She’s grown.

But she’s still my baby girl.

And I thought—this is going to be amazing. We’re going to hang out, we’re going to do stuff, I’ll show her the city…

And instead,

she’s in her room.

I’m doing my thing.

And we’re just… passing each other.

She’s right there.

And I can’t reach her.

—

I don’t know how it connects to anything we’re talking about.

I’m not thinking about the interview anymore.

I just feel it.

So I look up…

and I yell:

“My niece has been living with us for six months and it’s fucking killing me.”

—

The room goes completely silent.

Michael looks at me.

Raises his eyebrow a little.

And for the first time in eight minutes… he leans in.

And he says:

“Tell me more.”

—

So I do.

I tell him about her. About how easy it used to be.

About how weird it is to have someone you love right there…

and not be able to connect with them.

And I say,

“I just wish there was somewhere I could take her… where it would be easy for her to open up.”

And that’s the first time it feels like he actually understands what we’re trying to build.

He starts asking questions. He’s writing things down.

And I’m thinking,

finally.

—

And then the door opens.

Time’s up.

—

We walk out of the building, and I feel… kind of amazing.

Like… yeah, maybe we didn’t land it.

But at least they understood what we were trying to make.

And whatever happens, I left it all in the room.

—

Later, we’re sitting in a restaurant, just killing time before our flight.

And we get the email.

We didn’t get in.

Which… sucks.

But also… there’s relief. Because the pressure is over.

And then I read the rest of it.

Michael says the interview shifted when I talked about my niece.

He says that parent-child dynamic… that’s interesting.

He offers to mentor us, which is huge.

That means a lot to me.

Because he’s someone I respect.

And in that moment, it feels like,

he really heard me.

—

Looking back on it now…

I spent months trying to raise venture capital to solve that problem.

Trying to build a product.

Trying to explain it in a way that made sense.

—

But the thing that finally made someone listen…

was me admitting I couldn’t talk to someone I loved.

—

Turns out…

I didn’t need venture capital.

I needed a conversation.

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