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Regular readers of my articles will immediately notice this is a departure from my usual style. I feel strongly about the subject though, so I'll share it with you anyway. Perhaps something will resonate. If it doesn't, at least you gave it a minute. Right now, I'm working on a book about my life and my path as a software professional — I'm not certain it will ever see the light of day, but consider this a condensed excerpt from some of its chapters.
This piece covers deeply personal moments from both my life and career. It might get raw: how I wrestled with where I found myself, and what it took to break loose. I'm writing this because I suspect it might resonate with others. Sometimes, the path to a genuinely satisfied existence is hiding in plain sight.
If you've known me for a while — or even just followed along over the past seven years — you might have noticed that I went quiet. I used to publish blog posts more regularly, show up at conferences, and have my name circulate through the frontend scene. That paused for a time. I'll explain why later. Let's start from the beginning first.
Where it all started
Back in 2010, my boss called me into his office and told me my work was subpar. He couldn't articulate why or point to anything specific I had done wrong though, which seemed to make it all the more enjoyable for him to say it. For context, I'd just graduated and was the only person at that company dealing with web projects. I handled Ruby, PHP, Java, C++, C, VB.NET, JavaScript, Photoshop, and a handful of other tools. All by myself. No guidance, no one to show me the ropes, nobody reviewing my choices. When a client flagged a bug in my code, my boss relayed his intention to talk to me about it so it wouldn't recur. Hearing from him that my work was substandard, especially since he couldn't specify how, convinced me this workplace wasn't where I wanted to be. I resigned right then and there.
That moment stands as one of my earliest encounters with breaking out of the comfort zone. I felt terrible and had no sense of what came next, yet somehow it turned into a lucky break. The experience was both awful and liberating. Rent still needed paying, which meant I had to find something new. That pressure sparked a level of motivation I'd never felt. I happened to meet some compelling people who steered me toward consulting. Within months, I was a .NET consultant supporting the Belgian railways. Sure, I had to study relentlessly to get up to speed, but the pace energized me more than it drained me.
Two years on, a quiet inner voice insisted that trying and failing was preferable to stagnating. I chose to strike out on my own. From that moment onward, every professional step I've taken felt unsettling at first, but consistently proved worthwhile later. I'm not recounting every such leap here, that's what the book is for. This article is really about waking people up. Stepping beyond your familiar territory unlocks doors you never expected. The more regularly you push past your limits, the more fortune tends to find you.
Seven years ago, a colleague of mine — Yannick Houbrix — asked if I'd speak for the company he worked at. He promised an audience of just ten, chalked it up to knowledge sharing. I was nervous, but with such a small group I thought why not. I cooked up a talk about Angular.js components and unidirectional dataflow, ready to wow a dozen people.
It was tense in the beginning, and it got tenser when those ten people arrived as one hundred (nice one, Yannick — nobody told me the memo… ;-)). By that point, though, I was on stage, and the session went smoothly. Breaking out of that comfort zone led to a Belgian publisher commissioning my first three-day audit, focused on their Angular.js codebase. The further I pushed, the more opportunities surfaced. Doors kept opening.
Finding my way as an international Angular trainer/consultant
A few weeks later, Yannick's company asked me to run a training on Angular 2, which was the successor to Angular.js at the time. I jumped at it and led my first Angular workshop, building on the experience I already had with Angular.js. That particular session wasn't particularly uncomfortable, but organizing a public two-day workshop not long after in Ghent definitely was. What if nobody signed up? I'd be squarely facing failure. Renting the venue was anything but cheap — a failure would have meant admitting I'd been out of my depth.
Shortly before this, I'd seen a talk by Todd Motto where he argued that nothing of note ever gets achieved in the comfort zone. I decided to follow that instinct and launched my own public Angular workshop. Despite the skeptics, I ended up selling not just one batch, but three separate two-day public sessions that month, each capped at eight attendees. Around that same time, a well-regarded German Angular training organization also held a workshop in Ghent, yet I trusted my own judgment and pushed beyond my comfort layer anyway.
Side note: before that same year was up, that German said company asked me to freelance for them, and we had a fantastic run delivering international Angular training together.
During one of the workshops I ran in Ghent, I invited Jurgen Van de Moere along. Little did I realize he'd go on to co-organize ng-be alongside Sam Vloeberghs.
I didn't know about Jurgen's role in ng-be at the time — I simply offered him a free seat in my workshop because he struck me as an interesting person (which he absolutely is). He enjoyed the experience, and later invited me to deliver a training at ng-be. Stepping out of my comfort zone handed me an opportunity that established me within the Angular community. Was it just luck? Defininitely part of it — but when you never leave your comfy bubble, luck has a much harder time finding you in the first place.
The years following were productive ones. I co-founded StrongBrew with Kwinten Pisman and we became known internationally as Angular and RxJS-focused trainers/consultants.
Sliding back into comfort
Let me be clear: radical career jumps and persistent boundary pushing come at a price. It isn't all excitement. There's that thing called imposter syndrome, which I'll likely write about separately. Then there's the nagging sense that you're grazing a ceiling, that you need to ramp up, become more, achieve more. It's work-related stress and unreasonable hours; it piles up. Burnout becomes a real danger. I had moments where I wasn't fully present for my family. My health slipped — the weight crept up, and finding any sort of work-life balance felt impossible. That's food for thought: pursuing growth at all costs is fine, but don't lose sight of balance. If anything, balance is everything. I eventually recalibrated: more workouts, more intentional time off, and a stronger focus on the quality of daily life.
StrongBrew enjoyed four solid years, but when COVID-19 hit and Kwinten took a position at StackBlitz — combined with my shifting priorities — that chapter closed. I'm not grieving its exit; it was time to turn the page. I started working with a single client full-time and launched a side business teaching culinary workshops on ceramic grills. It went better than expected, and I was able to call myself an (air quotes) "entrepreneur" on the side.
Around then, my marriage collapsed. Seeing my kids half the time became the routine, and life got harder to carry. I still made decent money and worked with an impressive client, Rosa, which is doing meaningful work to change healthcare. I began with four-fifths of my week dedicated to Rosa and the other fifth spent on remote audits, code-reviews, and technical interviews. After two years of this setup, I'd settled into full-time work with them. Ninety-five percent of my hours were remote, in my home office. I phased out the code-reviews entirely. I became a developer like any other — before, I'd always been the coach, the architect, the tech lead, whatever label you prefer. I didn't mind titles either way, honestly, but by that point, any capable senior dev could slot right in and do what I did. I wasn't delivering the value that anchors my identity. I'd drifted into the comfort zone. No more hustle for new business, I simply wrote code from my comfy chair, sipping fine coffee in a familiar, warm workspace.
From the outside, my life looked the way it was supposed to. I was fit, I kept the house post-divorce, the kids were fine, and I'd met a fantastic girlfriend. Everything looked 'right'. Yet satisfaction wasn't there. It creeps in quietly like an illness. You wake up one morning and find yourself deeply unconvinced, uninspired, simply coasting and agreeing with the way things are.
Breaking out — again
One evening, sitting around a bonfire, a friend noticed that the joy had seeped out of me. He suggested I check out Tony Robbins, someone he described as a kind of life coach who helped people become a stronger version of themselves. My skeptic antennas were fully raised at first. But on a dull Netflix-and-chill evening I looked him up anyway — and haven't stopped reading and watching since. Among the things he clarified for me:
- Making money is, ultimately, a science. It's not what matters most. Being happy… that's an art!
- Helping/coaching/mentoring people and organizations is what genuinely lights me up. That's where I want to create impact and add real value.
- Once again, breaking out of the comfortable bubble is what it would take to get there.
I made the call to free myself — but this time with sharper awareness of the trade-offs. No more planes full of business trips, no more impossible hours. Instead, I committed to chase discomfort with intention. The hard part was leaving Rosa. That was an emotional decision because they genuinely felt like family, and they remain my all-time best employer. Still, staying there wasn't viable. Rosa had become synonymous with comfort and being stuck — a golden cage, for that moment in my timeline.
Three months ago, I changed direction. Pushing out of my normal patterns daily has shifted things considerably. I signed on as a frontend software architect at DHL aviation, which has me commuting to the office several days per week. The distance is significant and the company is massive, so comfort isn't in the job description exactly, but I can add value there — a solid architecture is on the table, and I can mentor promising engineers. Real impact seems genuinely plausible.
I also resumed blogging, hoping to pass along useful insight. Not just code-level advice, but experience with career and life, too.
Then, I chose to build yet another workshop. But not just another course: essentially my entire six-to-seven years of Angular experience condensed into a one-day masterclass on best practices. I've worked across dozens of organizations, with countless developers, touching 50 to 100 projects along the way. I have a substantial amount to share, and I think this workshop is a vehicle for that. I'm setting aside earmarks for monthly updates to keep it current. I can't predict how this next road unfolds, but this is the focus right now.
I broke out of my comfort bubble once more — and life already grows brighter because of it. Two companies have signed on for my Angular Best Practices Workshop, and additional opportunities are developing quietly in the background. I've managed to let setbacks pass me by, focusing instead on what propels me forward. That zest is back. Life, far from a pony camp, still feels good: I'm content, and my motivation has not been stronger.
Wrapping up
The motivation behind this piece is singular. Financial wins and glossy corporate titles matter little in the end. Finding a way to be genuinely happy carries more weight — and if comfort does that for you, then you may stay. But for days when you feel stuck — in a job, career, or in life overall — remember that the uncomfortable choices often open the most valuable doors.
I'm driven by anticipating what's ahead and by living fully. Adding value and leaving a mark on things is crucial. I'm certain that leaving my comfort zone repeatedly invites the luck and chances I need — and making the occasional bad decision beats making no decision at all.
A word of thanks to the reviewers
