It’s the 1st of February as I write this, a whole month late. I wanted to write this reflection earlier, but I didn’t get around to prioritising it because a lot of other things were happening in my life in January.
(in retrospect, that delay says something about the year itself)
The biggest thing that happened in my life in 2025 occurred on March 4th. I’ll sound like a lot of other parents in the next few sentences. But there’s nothing like becoming and then being a parent—nothing else I’ve experienced has so quickly and thoroughly rearranged what feels important. It’s life-altering, and while not always easy, I find it incredibly rewarding.
(cue to other parents nodding as they read this)
Here are some of the things that happened during 2025 in my life, in no particular order:
I’ve watched 36 movies, significantly fewer than years past as movies and TV moved lower down the priority stack, without much resistance from me. One Battle After Another, Eddington, and No Other Choice were my favorites. My wife and I also managed to watch several TV series - with Andor’s season two (must watch) and The Rehearsal being the standouts.
I kept enjoying board games as a way to spend time with family and friends. Last year, I wrote that one board game I’m most intrigued to play more of in 2025 is Dune Imperium: Uprising. It’s absolutely excellent and one that I’m always getting to the table. Slay the Spire is the top co-op game that we played together with my wife, and I’m subscribed to its expansions’ Kickstarter campaign. Finally, Feed the Kraken and Wavelength resulted in me laughing the most at a table.
Chess remains a hobby. While I rarely get the opportunity to play in person, I thoroughly enjoy the simultaneous exhibitions put on by Vilnius Chess Club. I managed to score very well in 2025 - two wins and a draw out of the three times that I attended. There’s also the Vilnius IT Chess League, where I’m playing as a member of Vinted’s team, and we’re leading the tournament after 9 rounds, with 5 more to go.
Vinted is doing well in other areas beyond chess events, and I continue to relish being part of it. The company keeps on growing, and even after 13 years in, still feels like it’s only the beginning of a long journey.
Even if I wrote several interesting reflection during 2025, my most viewed blog post in 2025 was one from 2023: Recommended Software Engineering Books.
Naturally, my wife and I took fewer trips this year. Our only vacation outside of Lithuania was in Lermoos, where we stayed in a family-focused hotel. We were both more anxious than usual travelling with our son for the first time, but everything went smoothly.
(also, I had to wait for my son to reach 9-12 months before jogging with a stroller becomes ok)
It’s a cliche, but it feels that our son grew really fast during 2025. He’s active and curious, lately exploring our home with his hands on the walls and furniture. His curiosity extends to other people, and sometimes he seems even more sociable than his introverted dad.
My wife and I were fortunate when it comes to our son’s sleep. We never experienced wake-up-every-hour-or-two. Our son’s sleep developed pretty much by the book. Even growing teeth or having a cold resulted in a relatively minor disturbance to his sleep schedule.
(I’m knocking on wood as I write this)
Our cats (Athos and Portha) are well. They’ve adjusted well to our son. While Portha still keeps our son at arm’s length, Athos is okay allowing our son’s attempts to caress.
Our family started preparing to move to a different flat this year. After more than five years at our current place and a ton of great memories, this will be a significant event in 2026.
Writing a yearly reflection assumes a neatness that life doesn’t really have. 2025 doesn’t feel like a contained thing to me. It feels like a before-and-after, with the line drawn very clearly in March.
I started this post by apologising for being late. In hindsight, that feels appropriate. This year didn’t lend itself to quick summaries or timely conclusions.
The list above is accurate, but it only captures what happened, not how priorities and attention were re-ordered. The most important changes don’t reduce well into bullet points.
]]>In this episode of CXO Secrets, David McClelland is joined by Mindaugas Mozūras, CTO at Vinted, for an insightful conversation on growth, adaptability, and leadership in one of Europe’s most successful tech companies. Together, they explore Vinted’s journey from a small Lithuanian startup to a global secondhand marketplace, the technology powering its scale, and the mindset needed to lead through rapid change. From staying cost-efficient with on-prem infrastructure to embracing AI and fostering a culture of learning, this episode reveals how growth often means not just adding more – but learning to let go.
]]>Crafting a blog post (or any longer article for that matter) from a blank page has never been easy for me. That was true no matter the circumstances - even when I have a clear idea of what I want to write and a structure in mind. I write “was true” because that was the case until LLMs (Large Language Models) reached a point where they are sufficiently capable for the task of drafting.
Give me something that already exists - no matter how messy and wrong - and I can immediately start patiently refining it until perfection. Give me a blank page, on the other hand, and I’ll experience writer’s block and start crossing all the other tasks off my to-do list.
This ability to focus on improvements has also been true in my career as an engineer. While some engineers love building things from scratch, the task I’ve enjoyed the most was debugging. As an engineer, I loved solving complex bugs - loading the system into my head, figuring out what’s happening, and finding the right line of code to change. I took great satisfaction in solving this kind of puzzle and improving the system at the same time.
(especially satisfying when the solution was just a single code change)
And if it wasn’t debugging, improving the code in other ways also brought me great delight.
I can build from scratch, but it isn’t where I shine. I know engineers who have the superpower of building things. The list includes Vinted’s co-founder and another early teammate. I still remember Vinted’s co-founder coming back after a weekend, having created an admin site. Was the code perfect? Far from it. Was it working? Yes.
I admire this ability, but it’s not something I possess. My happy place is when there’s already something to improve.
(or delete, deleting code is always fun)
Something to improve is what LLMs can provide. I use ChatGPT, but imagine other models and tools would work just as well. ChatGPT provides me with an instant first draft that I can edit. I won’t publish that draft - honestly, not even close - but it gives me something to refine, and refining is much easier for me.
I created a custom GPT, titled “Coding Fearlessly.” I uploaded my recent posts and tuned the GPT for my style: short headings, simple language, and some meta commentary.
The drafts this GPT produces are still off. They were way off with GPT-3 and GPT-3.5, to the extent that I did not use them at all - there are things that can be improved, and there are things that are so far off that it seems impossible. With the GPT-4 family of models, the drafts have become good enough to serve as a helpful starting point.
Getting a helpful draft also requires me to provide enough detail in my initial prompt. Otherwise, how can it try to tell my story? Oddly, unlike writing a draft, writing a long prompt to ChatGPT is easy. I know that it’s just a prompt, and I can just throw a bullet list of things I want the draft to include.
Editing these drafts provides me with a very similar experience to refactoring code. It’s easier to edit something that vaguely sounds like me than to conjure “me” from scratch. It makes the writing and thinking process more enjoyable for me.
When I’m happy with the text, I also use ChatGPT as a feedback generator. I input my text and ask for feedback. Some of the feedback is very helpful (e.g., noting that a specific paragraph lacks personal details/story), and it forces me to make further edits.
As an example, I’ll share what I used to craft my most recent blog post on Mortality (click the link to view the blog post itself). Here’s the prompt I used:
Draft a blog post about mortality. Thoughts to build around:
- I first started thinking about my own mortality early in my teenage years. Before then, I was religious (Christianity) and it was not something I thought too much about. Religion provides a convenient answer. I distinctly remember dawning on me that there’s noone answering when I try and talk to God. The more I thought about it, the more I started seeing religion as a human-made thing. It was a very powerful experience, especially when I started considering my own mortality.
- My atheism was further strengthened when in my late teenage years and early adulthood, I’ve read several books, “God Delusion” by Richard Dawkins among them. I became quite aggressive in my atheism for a year at that moment.
- These days, the topic of mortality is on my mind for several reasons. My son (5-months now) just made me think about life a lot more. The book “More Everything Forever” triggered these thoughts, because it describes how some people are trying to escape mortality.
- Thinking about my own mortality is still very difficult for me. I hope that writing this blog post will help me. It is very painful to imagine that there will be a moment when I am no more.
- It also makes me feel a lot more powerful towards my son. Life is the biggest gift.
And you can click here to look at the draft that ChatGPT generated.
If you take a look at both, you can probably see how the two texts are related to each other. Some sentences survived the evolution from the draft to the final text entirely.
Yet, there are also very significant differences. The initial draft is only 550 words (from my 220-word prompt), and the final text is over 1200 words. I added more personal details and stories, and removed some sentences that didn’t align with how I want to communicate.
(I can’t imagine myself saying “the way the rules were always human-sized”)
This editor-over-inventor bias is likely connected to my borderline-autistic tendencies. I prefer structure, am comfortable with routines, and enjoy loading a system into my head and probing it for errors. It feels like the same wiring: debugging suits me, editing suits me, and inventing from nothing suits me less so. The trick is to accept my strengths and build a workflow that respects my brain chemistry instead of fighting it.
So yes, ChatGPT helps me write the first draft. I still debug the draft until it runs exactly as I intend. What I publish still feels like something that is completely mine, coming from a process that was easier than before.
]]>As with any other blog post, I write this for myself, first and foremost. Putting my thoughts on a page helps me reflect and understand better. As the subject of this blog post is particularly sensitive (at least to me), I feel compelled to start with this disclaimer.
I recall the shift. It happened sometime in my early teenage years. Before then, I was religious. Christianity gave me a warm answer to a cold question: what happens when we die?
Religion was not an overwhelming part of my childhood, but it was present. I remember a small blue Bible for children that I’ve read through (possibly multiple times). I remember going to church. I remember religious holidays, especially at my grandmother’s house.
There was comfort in faith. You live, you die, you meet God. Death wasn’t scary. It wasn’t a thing to think deeply about.
Losing my religion was likely affected by many things going on in my life. No one sat me down and made a compelling case; it was probably a series of small moments that coalesced - in school, with friends, at chess club.
I recall the days after I lost my religion. I distinctly remember taking a warm bath and crying for a long time. The deeper I thought about it, the more religion felt artificial. Not in a dismissive way. In a terrifying way. Because if it was artificial, then there wasn’t someone listening. There wasn’t someone waiting. That meant death might be final.
That realization struck with the kind of force that only teenage angst can carry. Everything around me still looked the same, but something had snapped inside. I was hit by the idea that this life might be all there is. I recall trying to imagine the darkness of not existing.
My family did not have an immediate chance to react to my change. I kept it to myself, continuing to engage in religious events and traditions. I only became outwardly atheistic several years later.
In my later teenage years and early adulthood, I went through a phase of righteous anger. Looking back, it was definitely partly driven by my earlier experience and the pain I felt.
I read The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins, as well as a couple of similar books. I learned the word “atheist” and started to identify as such. I watched the movie Jesus Camp and got outraged at religious indoctrination.
For a year or two, I was annoyingly fierce in my atheism. I wanted debates. I wanted arguments. I wanted the falsehoods to stop, probably because I felt like I had been lied to. I still remember the clarity and intensity of that feeling.
I’ve since mellowed. I now recognize that my anger probably closed more doors than it opened. I still identify as an atheist, but I don’t feel like I have to convince anyone else.
This experience with faith, among other things, led me to be very cognizant of my mortality.
As an example, I have acrophobia - I’m afraid of heights. This phobia affects me a lot less in situations where it would be challenging to fall. I’m unsure how others experience it, but when I am somewhere high, I often get an image in my head of my falling to my death. Sometimes, that image is of me choosing to jump to my death, leading me to take a step away from the ledge. These involuntary thoughts are disturbing not just because they’re vivid, but because they momentarily make me feel as if my mind could betray me.
One of the most intense experiences I’ve ever had was riding a hot air balloon with my now-wife for several hours. I’m now unsure why I agreed to it, but I was anxious the whole time. The pleasure of landing was only somewhat diminished by a nearby swamp and a bunch of mosquito bites that followed. Just recalling the experience now as I write this sentence sends an uncomfortable shiver down my spine.
(on the other hand, my wife had a pleasant time throughout)
I’m generally quite risk-averse. While some say ‘YOLO’ (you only live once) as a way to signal the need to try new things, for me, it carries a different meaning. YOLO means savouring life and not taking stupid risks. None of the extreme sports - climbing, jumping, diving, gliding, or mountaineering - is of any interest to me.
I don’t have to be somewhere elevated to be reminded of my mortality. It can also happen in silent moments. There were instances when I got teary-eyed in blissful moments with my wife, after being hit with the realization that someday this would be no more.
Over the past month, the topic of mortality has kept resurfacing. The book More Everything Forever was one of the triggers. Among other topics, it discussed attempts to escape mortality and transcend human limits. Mostly, by those in tech. Mostly delusionally, I think. Mostly, to the detriment of addressing real and pressing problems such as climate change and wealth inequality.
(though, of course, I understand why people are drawn to the fantasy of immortality)
Another trigger for my thoughts on mortality is my son. He’s five months old now. Watching him is a joy. I’m struck by how much life he has ahead of him. I become even more aware that my path is much more finite. I’m older now than my dad, who died two years ago, was when I was born.
I don’t want to leave. That’s the hard truth. I don’t want there to be a time when I am no longer. Thinking deeply about the moment when I’ll cease to exist is intensely painful. Even writing this is painful, but maybe writing will help.
All of this is affected by the fact that I’m genuinely happy and fulfilled in life. I have a loving family, meaningful work, the luxury of learning and experiencing new things, and very few things to truly worry about. I’m lucky. Absurdly lucky, even, to be able to write that. If I weren’t as fortunate, I might not cling to life as much as I do.
There is one positive I got from all this thinking about mortality. It underscored the value of life.
I helped bring life into the world. Every time I look at my son, I understand how staggering the gift of life is. Not metaphorically. Literally. Life is fragile and fleeting, and that’s precisely why it’s so valuable. Each moment is a miracle; each interaction is a chance to add meaning to our limited time.
(“Helped bring” is exactly right, as my wife did the heavy lifting.)
I can’t pretend I’m at peace with mortality. I’m now even more aware of its weight and the meaning it gives to every moment. Perhaps reflecting on mortality won’t eliminate my fear, but it may eventually help transform that fear into gratitude, making each moment count. We die. Which is precisely why living matters.
]]>While writing this blog post, I attempted to research the origins of this management approach. I suspected it arose in specific valuable contexts and was later misapplied more broadly - but I found no clear origin.
I found famous leaders like Margaret Thatcher and Teddy Roosevelt being attributed quotes related to solutions-not-problems. However, these are merely instances of famous people being attributed various quotes without any substantiation.
Complaining about a problem without posing a solution is called whining.
(likely not) Teddy Roosevelt
I also found some speculation that the mantra “bring me solutions” might be related to Henry Ford. While I can imagine how the solutions-not-problems could be connected to the high labour environment of that time, I found no substantial proof that it originated there.
A manager doesn’t need to explicitly say, “Bring me solutions”, for the mindset to take hold. A manager’s indirect actions can unintentionally send the same message.
The implicit signals can take many forms. A manager who consistently praises individuals who solve problems on their own but shows little patience when others bring up issues they’re struggling with. A manager who, during every meeting, asks, “Have you thought through a solution yet?” whenever a team member raises an issue. A manager who rewards quick fixes and loses their cool when a problem is being discussed.
All of these examples can signal that coming forward with an unresolved problem is discouraged. Team members quickly learn what their managers value based on who gets recognized, rewarded, or given opportunities. If bringing solutions is perceived as the path to success, people will naturally follow suit.
I’ll address the downsides of solutions-not-problems below, but there are situations in which the approach of solutions-not-problems can be effective.
When the team consists of experienced professionals skilled in the relevant challenges, pushing people to think through solutions on their own can be effective. It encourages proactivity. It forces people to prioritize, focus, and take ownership. It reduces upward delegation, preventing a manager from becoming the bottleneck.
In the past, especially when I was starting out as a manager, I’ve had situations when I inadvertently encouraged upward delegation, an act of pushing responsibility to one’s manager. As an engineer, I was accustomed to solving problems, so even when I became a manager, I would sometimes do something akin to “bring me problems, and I’ll solve them.”
From what I’ve seen, this is not a unique issue among new managers. That didn’t work, as I couldn’t realistically solve everything myself, and I needed to empower my team more. If “bring me problems, and I’ll solve them” is on one end of the spectrum and “bring me solutions” is on the other, over time, I definitely moved closer to solutions-not-problems. But not fully.
A solutions-not-problems approach can genuinely feel empowering to the team. A manager is signalling that they trust the member’s judgment, creativity, and problem-solving skills. Who wouldn’t want to work in an environment like that?
(I definitely appreciated it when my managers showed trust in me)
Yet, while this approach works in some cases, it also carries serious downsides.
Over time, managers who, either explicitly or implicitly, discourage problems from bubbling upwards become disconnected from the very things they should understand deeply.
(you know, the actual problems facing their teams)
The key reason why this approach breaks down is reduced transparency. People conceal problems instead of addressing them. When solutions aren’t immediately apparent, team members might decide it’s safer to not mention the issue at all. Nobody wants to be the bearer of bad news.
This reduced transparency can then lead to less collaboration, poorer decisions, and issues festering.
Less collaboration. Not every problem can be solved by one person alone. Some issues are complex and require multiple perspectives and skill sets. Reduced transparency and encouraging teams to always solve issues can isolate and create silos.
Poorer decisions. Managers exist not only to delegate; managers also need to support, coach, and clear obstacles. When a manager is not aware, they can’t help - meaning that the team’s decisions can be of worse quality. The manager’s decision quality also suffers when they are unaware of the actual struggles and concerns within the team.
Issues festering. When the team is reluctant to bring problems forward, minor issues may fester into much bigger ones. The earlier a problem is shared, the easier it is to solve.
So what’s a better approach?
Personally, I prefer something closer to: “Bring me problems - solutions are great if you have them, but let’s solve together if you don’t.” This shifts the tone from “don’t bother me until you’ve fixed it” to “I trust you, and I’ve got your back.”
I want to signal psychological safety and encourage open, honest conversations about what’s actually going on. I want to promote ownership, but that doesn’t mean isolating myself from the challenges in my team. It’s possible to be both demanding and supportive.
I don’t see problems as annoyances - they’re opportunities to understand and support. There may be situations when I can help because I know something that my team member doesn’t. There will also be situations where we need to figure it out together. Both are great. I trust you, and I’ve got your back.
]]>Last year, in 2024, I was asked to sponsor the Neurodiversity Week at Vinted. At first, I wasn’t sure what I could meaningfully contribute, but I felt it was essential to be involved. So, I wrote a Slack message to the whole company. Here’s what I promised in that message:
I want to improve and broaden my understanding. In addition to participating in the initiatives, I also decided to (this won’t be surprising to those who know me) read a book on the topic. I’ve selected Unmasking Autism, but I’m open to other recommendations (please message me). I hope, with time and effort, to become more aware and conscious.
(reading a book is my default first step when learning about something new)
I ended up reading the aforementioned book by Devon Price the next month after I made that promise. Last week, a conversation reminded me of this book and my reflections after reading it, so I decided it would be valuable to share my thoughts.
Overall, I liked “Unmasking Autism”, even if the latter chapters felt too US-centric and too steeped in the language of culture wars (e.g. “Refusing to perform neurotypicality is a revolutionary act of disability justice. It’s also a radical act of self-love.”). Here’s an excerpt of what I wrote in my review:
Before reading this book by Devon Price, I had only a very, very shallow understanding of autism. I appreciate that this book made me understand autism and neurodiversity more deeply. It made me think about the differences between gender/racial diversity and neurodiversity. The biggest one is that you can more easily consciously notice and adjust your behaviour with the former. It made me think about my biases and preconceptions when engaging with people and how there might be better choices than those.
I hoped for this outcome when I decided to read a book on neurodiversity - I wanted to become more aware and conscious. But then, something unexpected happened while reading it. Quite a few of the experiences described felt familiar, even if not to the extent people described in the book underwent them.
In “Unmasking Autism”, there are many examples of what autistic people experience and how those experiences feel to them. Even if some examples felt extreme (e.g. “detached from the world, with no trust in others or my potential”), I still could relate to them at some level. Below are a few patterns I recognized in myself. None of these are new, but the book gave me a different perspective.
These aren’t new revelations. They’re just how I am. But reading the book gave me a different framing: maybe these aren’t just quirks. They may be patterns. So I asked myself: Am I autistic?
(multiple friends were surprised that I’ve only asked this question now instead of much earlier in life)
I took two online tests. Online tests can’t give a diagnosis, nor should they be fully trusted, but I wanted to see whether my question has a basis. Overall, self-assessment has limits, and I’m not trying to co-opt a diagnosis. Both tests came out “borderline autistic” - not a strong yes, not a firm no.
I didn’t have a strong emotional reaction to these results. That’s partly because they were what I expected and partly because I already considered and reflected on the possibility while consuming the book. I also understood that I don’t have any strong feelings toward the label itself - I won’t think of anyone else as worse or better if they are autistic.
Having this answer, I’ve contemplated whether I want to take any further steps. Ultimately, I decided that’s enough of an answer for me now, and I don’t need a more thorough assessment. Either way, I’ve figured out how to live in a way that works for me. I accept my identity, and my preferences, habits, and coping strategies serve me well.
Going deeper into this topic helped me reflect and understand my experiences better and allowed me to find more resources.
But even more importantly, it gave me a much deeper appreciation for how people experience the world differently. As another step towards understanding others better, I plan to read a book about ADHD, something that I only have a cursory understanding of. I’m lucky that I had a very supportive environment during my life, especially my childhood, where my preferences, habits, and strategies worked. Not everyone is as lucky.
Empathy matters. Empathy isn’t just being nice - it’s realizing that what feels easy or comfortable to you might be a struggle for someone else. And the inverse is true, too. People you admire - who seem focused, driven, even brilliant - might be masking huge parts of themselves just to fit in.
Some people need noise-cancelling headphones in the office, not because they’re trying to be difficult, but because it’s the only way to concentrate. Some people need unambiguous communication because ambiguity causes real stress. Some people might seem “cold” in social settings, but they’re overwhelmed inside. Others might appear overly chatty when they’re trying to mask their anxiety. What people are navigating is not always obvious.
We can’t know everyone’s full story. But we can create spaces where people don’t have to mask as much.
]]>When people talk about growth, they usually talk about adding new skills, habits, or knowledge. This form of growth feels exciting and fulfilling, as it often visibly expands capabilities and opportunities. Yet, another kind of growth is more challenging and, at least in my experience, more profound.
There is the type of growth that requires personal change. That means not just adding something new but removing something that has been a part of us. Change is loss. Loss is painful; thus, changes are tough.
(true for other kind of changes as well, not just personal ones)
I want to share two examples from my experience at Vinted, where transformative growth significantly impacted me. Both examples highlight how deeply intertwined professional roles can become with identities—and how adjusting these connections is often necessary, albeit difficult, for actual growth.
The first example revolves around principles and flexibility.
I held onto being strictly principled for a big part of my career. As a software engineer, precision, correctness, and adherence to clear standards were key elements of my professional identity.
(so much so that my biggest open source contribution is all about correctness)
And not just my professional identity. Before I got into software engineering, my childhood was defined by other activities where precision is important, including constructing LEGOs, chess, math, playing the piano, and Magic: the Gathering.
Being principled and precise felt non-negotiable and was integral to how I saw myself. However, being in a leadership role challenged this. Good leadership often requires compromise, negotiation, and flexibility—qualities that felt somewhat foreign, even uncomfortable, compared to my previous identity.
As my colleagues, who had to be on the other side of my unvarying principles, can attest, shifting to being more flexible wasn’t easy. Letting go of my rigidity meant confronting a deeply rooted aspect of myself. At first, it felt as though compromising on principles compromised who I was. The first times when I forced myself to be more flexible with my peers felt like a betrayal of who I was.
Forcing myself is precisely what I had to do. I had to fake being flexible to make myself more flexible. I continued reflecting on what made it so difficult to allow nuance and compromise each time.
It took a while, but over time, I realized that being principled doesn’t have to mean being inflexible. I changed my mental model to allow for flexibility more often. I accepted that nuance and compromise are necessary for leadership, especially when working with peers. I believe I can now navigate various work situations more effectively and decisively.
The second example is about identity and my emotional connection to Vinted.
I started at Vinted in 2012, almost 13 years ago, while writing this blog post. That was very early in Vinted’s journey, as an employee badge in my drawer with the number 16 on it, confirms. Today, Vinted has more than 2000 employees.
I have a powerful emotional connection to Vinted. Not only because I spent most of my professional career with the company but also because of the people I met, the experiences I had, and how successful Vinted became. In 2021, Vinted was a core part of my identity. At that time, it felt normal to me. How could it be bad to associate myself so strongly with Lithuania’s first tech unicorn?
Now, I can recognize that this intense emotional connection also had a negative side. For example, I would experience stronger emotions in any situation threatening my connection with Vinted.
Before 2021, Vinted was a company with a single business - Marketplace, and to this day, it remains our core business. In 2021, it became clear that Vinted will need to introduce a second business unit - Vinted Go, our logistics business.
(Vinted Go is doing quite well, by the way)
I was very much an advocate for this change. For Vinted Go to succeed, it needs to be able to operate more autonomously. My principled side knew that this was the right thing to do. However, adding a second business unit also meant reviewing and changing the top management team, of which I was a part. I could have argued that engineering only needs leaders in both business units, not an overall leader. Because of my principled side, I did make that argument to my manager and peers.
I found myself feeling uncertain about my future at Vinted, partly thanks to my logical side. Suddenly, my sense of self-esteem, which I had inadvertently linked tightly to Vinted, was at stake. At that time, I was surprised to discover how deeply my identity was intertwined with Vinted’s. This discovery wasn’t just adding a new perspective—it was actively dismantling a part of my identity that had quietly grown around my work.
A couple of months of reflection, mixed with some nights of abysmal sleep, followed. The initial discomfort gradually gave way to clarity. I started forming a healthier relationship with Vinted by consciously acknowledging and working through this connection. After those months, this change wasn’t complete, but it was a good start. I still needed many more months, encountering more situations and more reflection.
This healthier balance allowed me to approach challenges more level-headedly and with less emotional volatility. This shift didn’t diminish my care or passion for Vinted. Instead, it freed me to engage more authentically and sustainably. I genuinely believe that I can contribute better to Vinted’s success with this healthier connection.
Growth through personal change is uncomfortable precisely because it involves reshaping core parts of who we are, not merely adding new ones. Yet, in my experience, these uncomfortable adjustments lead to the most meaningful growth.
The transformations I wrote about above were some of my professional life’s more critical growth moments. They were painful, as both required changing something that became a core part of my identity. But ultimately, not only did they make me more effective, but they also made me a happier human being.
To enable these personal changes, I had to understand myself more deeply. I had to reflect on my identity and understand how those pieces of my identity came to be. And not only once but continuously, as I encountered situations that brought forward those pieces of my identity. Through these self-reflections, I could start adjusting myself and my behaviour.
(thanks to my wife for asking open-ended questions that enable self-reflection instead of suggesting solutions)
Any kind of change isn’t easy. I hope this blog post was at least interesting to read and, at best, inspired to reflect on a piece of you that you find difficult to let go of.
]]>What I write below is the experience from my eyes. A reader might find some details extraneous, but those details are what helps me recall and visualize these memories. It should also not be understood that I believe my perspective to be the most important. Clearly, I was not the lead player in this story.
My wife and I were already in any-day mode before March 4th, as the due date was February 23rd. By the time March rolled around, we were immensely aware that most births already happen by this point in the pregnancy.
It might feel counterintuitive, but instead of tensing up anticipating the birth, I became more relaxed with each passing day. The uncomplicated reason was that it gave us more time to prepare for the eventual birth (even if preparation has been happening for months now). Simple things made it easier to anticipate the birth date - like again driving to the Santaros hospital to be 100% clear about the exact route and finalizing stuff at work in preparation for my paternity leave.
Eventually, after my wife went for a consultation with a doctor, she was told that the labour might need to be induced. It’s common for labour to be induced when the baby is overdue, and we were not worried about it. What we hoped to avoid was a Caesarian section, as it involves a lot more complications.
On March 4th, we slept well, calmly ate breakfast, waited for a handyman to change our water meter (he graciously agreed to visit us earlier in the day than planned), and then drove to the hospital. Around midday, I parked our car in a parking lot across the street from the hospital. I was a bit surprised by how busy it was - I had to wait in line and wait for some cars to leave before I could enter the parking lot and park the car.
At this point, while a lot of people were aware that our baby would enter the world any day now, no one was aware that this was the day we were driving to this hospital.
I felt calm at this point due to how straightforwardly everything was playing out. Beforehand, I imagined and mentally prepared for extreme scenarios, like being woken up in the middle of the night by my wife being told that the waters broke (which rarely happens). Compared to these imagined scenarios, driving to the hospital in the middle of the day after a good night’s sleep felt easy.
(I didn’t rehearse driving with limited sleep; maybe I should have?)
I was also entirely focused on the delivery itself, not thinking much about what would happen afterwards. Having a clear focus and knowing what I can do to participate and help (in some limited ways) also helped me feel calm and relaxed on this day.
When we entered the hospital, my wife was directed to be seen by a doctor, who would determine whether labour would be induced today. In the meantime, our bags and I had to wait in the lobby.
During the next hour and a half, I mostly spent reading with my shoes off and my legs crossed under me. For this week, I consciously chose to read something light - “Malibu Rising” by Taylor Jenkins Reid. I enjoyed other books by her (“Carrie Soto is Back”, “Daisy Jones and the Six”, and “The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo”), so this was a solid and safe choice.
(a tangent: I recently considered upgrading to a newer e-reader and decided there is no need. My Kindle Paperwhite is almost ten years old but still perfectly functional)
When I would take my eyes off my Kindle, that would happen for one of two reasons. Either because I would hear something that made me think that Eglė or the doctor might be back for me. Or because I would get a chance to observe other future parents. I had a chance to see how differently people behave in these situations. I saw a guy who was not able to stay still while waiting in the lobby. I saw another guy who was trying to convince the hospital staff that his wife would get what he considered the best doctor for their pregnancy. I saw a tired and happy dad-of-twins returning to the hospital, making awkward jokes about him now living in the hospital. I could empathize with all of them.
After more than an hour and a half, the hospital staff asked me to fill out some forms as it was determined that the pregnancy would be induced today. In ten more minutes, sometime after 2pm, my wife, me, and our bags ended up in a hospital room where the baby would eventually arrive.
We didn’t know how long we would spend in this room. It could be three hours, or it could be twelve. We were ready for a scenario where we would welcome the baby on March 5th.
We both agreed that the hospital room was not how we imagined it. I think that’s mainly the influence of TV and movies. It was closer to a regular room with some equipment instead of an overwhelmingly and overbearingly hospital-feeling room. For the first few hours, I felt a bit uneasy in this room, but that passed as I got used to the place.
Because the labour was being induced, Eglė had to stay firmly in bed until the baby arrived. At first, there was not much for us to do besides talking and reflecting about what was going to take place over the next hours. But then contractions began.
While my wife was dealing with them directly, my role was to help with massages and water. The first rounds of contractions were not that bad, and she felt optimistic about not needing epidural pain relief. She went back to the initial plan of actually doing the epidural after a couple of hours as contractions intensified.
At around 6pm, the next checkup was due for 7pm, and the hospital staff told me that nothing would happen until then. Thus, after consulting with my wife, I went to the pizzeria nearby. I made sure to order the salami pizza beforehand, so it was hot and waiting for me when I sat down. It’s good that I ate and took a walk outside to clear my head, as things started happening very quickly after I came back to the hospital.
At 7pm, I was asked to wait outside the room as the doctor and staff examined whether the cervix was dilated enough, which means more than 10cm. During the previous examinations, it was stubbornly stuck at 4cm, so we were both in “it’s probably going to be a March 5th baby”. When I returned to the room, I was surprised to learn it was time for my wife to give birth.
The final stage of labour happened over the next hour, during which I was a bit worried and hoping that everything would be ok. I was there mostly to cheer for and give emotional support to my wife, who was doing the hard work of actually helping the baby arrive.
I am incredibly proud of her. Not only for what she did during this day but for everything she’s done over the last year (starting with IVF) to ensure this baby joins our family. I will have many memories from this period - from the beginning of seeing her sticking needles in her belly (shots to stimulate the pregnancy) to the effort on her face as she helped push the baby into this world.
(I wrote “sticking long needles” in an earlier draft. When I showed the draft to my beloved wife, she assured me those needles weren’t that long, which probably just shows how differently my wife and I feel about needles)
At around 8pm, the baby was here. The first moments were worrying, as I wanted to immediately know whether he was ok. As he started screaming, I was relieved. I made the symbolic gesture of cutting the umbilical cord, and then I was sent to the corridor as the hospital staff took care of my wife and the baby.
As I stepped out of the room, I couldn’t hold my emotions in anymore. I started crying out of relief and happiness. As I walked past the hospital staff and then another nervous guy, all I managed to do was to say “everything’s ok” to ensure them that everything was more than ok. As I sat on a couch in the corridor with tears continuing to roll down my face, a doctor walking past shot me a nervous glance, to which I responded with a vigorous thumbs up, with relief passing over her face.
I was invited back to the room some minutes later. My wife was ok, also relieved and happy. The baby was ok, healthy and calm. The next phase of our lives has begun.
]]>I’m a bit late writing this one, as it’s already past the middle of January. There’s no reason for this lateness, but it’s been part of my general trend of writing fewer blog posts. However, I think I was writing more long-form in 2024 than in 2023, with my writing moving to other places (e.g. internal work Slack channels).
Here are some of the things that happened during 2024 in my life, in no particular order:
I continued playing a bit of online chess. I mostly played “blitz” (at 5/5 time format), with my rating peaking at 1894 (the peak in 2024 was 1862). I don’t feel like I’m investing much in chess, but I feel like I’m getting a bit better. My most memorable chess game of the year was during a live simultaneous exhibition against GM Viktorija Čmilytė. I had a better position (pawn up), missed an opportunity to be up an exchange, and then managed to misplay a dry draw into a loss. My one excuse is that during the game, it became more challenging to play with the number of players decreasing as I had to move each time the opponent stepped up to my board (fewer players means making moves faster). Despite the loss (Čmilytė won all the games), I enjoyed the experience, even when everyone’s focus was on my board, with me as the last person playing.
I continued to enjoy board games as a way to spend time with family and friends. I suspect that 2024 was the year when I spent the most hours playing board games (excluding years from earlier in my life when I used to play either chess or MtG quite competitively). Hegemony was the heaviest game I enjoyed, requiring 5-6 hours for a four-player game. Heat was probably my most enjoyable out of the lighter games. And Dune: Imperium - Uprising is perhaps one that I’m intrigued to play more of.
2024 was the second year owning a driver’s license. With that in mind, my good friends gave me a gift of doing a couple of laps with a Tesla Model S Plaid at Nemuno žiedas. While I was pretty worried before taking those laps, I relished the experience (and I can now brag about overtaking a Lamborghini on a racetrack). Don’t expect me to get into racing, but I can now understand the appeal.
I continued running, covering my longest yearly distance - more than 1800km. That included two races. In May, I ran a 1:39:49 half marathon, finishing 207th out of 1310 runners at “Vilniaus Pusmaratonis 2024.” Then, in September, I ran a 1:37:38 half marathon, finishing 277th out of 2423 runners at “Vilniaus Maratonas 2024”. Both were my personal best at that time!
I continued to work at Vinted, now, for more than 12 years. I care about sustainability, the company is doing well, and the work continues to be interesting and challenging. Vinted’s most externally noticeable milestone was the secondary share sale that valued the company at €5B. While that’s a nice milestone, it continues to feel like we’re only at the start of a long journey.
Besides my usual CTO role, I had to step in as the interim People leader for half of 2024. Doing two jobs was quite demanding. But I knew what I signed up for when my CEO asked whether I’d do it. It was important, and I saw it as a good opportunity to grow as a leader.
2024 started with me and my wife on an extended vacation in the east of Asia. I returned from that vacation having figured out some things about what I want to be as a leader. One visible change to how I work was the increase in how much I write, specifically to bigger groups of people (all of Vinted, all of engineering, all engineering leaders). I feel much more comfortable about what I want to say, and writing is the natural way to express myself.
My wife is pregnant, and that’s the most important thing in my life. I wrote a year ago that we would try in vitro fertilisation (IVF), and that did end up helping us on this long journey. At the time of writing, it’s week 35, so we’re getting quite close to welcoming the little guy to the world. And it already affects how I think. During a particularly challenging day at work, at one moment, I stopped and reflected that whatever is troubling me at work is not nearly as critical, and that helped me gain perspective and be less anxious.
The parenting book I’ve liked the most so far is Elavating Child Care. For me, it seems to strike a good balance between treating the child like a human being (even when it’s only several months) and still being a parent (not a peer). I’m sure that reality will be more complex than the frameworks I find in books, but having these frameworks still feels helpful to me.
2024 is over. It was an incredible year for me personally, and 2025 is bound to be a pivotal year in my life. While it would be easy to focus on the negatives, quite a few good things are happening in the world. Greenhouse emissions shrank in EU, experts believe that China’s emissions have peaked (China is currently building almost twice as much wind and solar as the rest of the world combined), EV sales are accelerating across the globe, significant progress on all kinds of medical research and vaccines, and global child deaths reached a historic low. I remain optimistic about the world and humanity’s ability to tackle the challenges we’re facing. Off to 2025.
]]>Usually, I write these at the start of the new year. This time, it’s the middle of December. I’ll start an extended vacation later in the week I finish writing this blog post. It made more sense for me to reflect on the year now instead of doing so in January after a long vacation.
Here are some of the things that happened during 2023 in my life, in no particular order:
Alan Wake 2 might be the best piece of media I’ve consumed. It’s a wonderfully deep, dark, and weird experience throughout. My wife and I played the game together, exchanging who held the PlayStation controller at various moments. Gaming this way might seem odd, but it works pretty well for a game that’s so much about atmosphere and story. And I’m too much of a scaredy cat to play a horror game on my own.
I continued playing quite a bit of online chess. I mostly played “daily” and “blitz” (at 5/5 time format), with the former’s rating climbing up to 1901. The latter’s rating is now at 1821, after reaching the high of 1862 in the middle of the year. Surprisingly, my wife got really into chess this year, too, and she continuously plays chess in the “daily” format.
I also enjoy other board games as a way to spend time with family and friends. With time, I learned I enjoy a mix of heavier (e.g., Brass: Birmingham) and lighter (e.g., 6 nimmt!) board games. There is something intellectually alluring about heavier games, but I now appreciate that time spent with friends doesn’t always have to be about a complex puzzle to solve.
I have had a driver’s license since January. My wife and I would love to increase the size of our family, and a driver’s license seems like a must-have. I passed the theory on the first try, and to brag a bit - I was confidently the first person leaving the theory exam room. The practical exam took a couple of attempts due to some stupid mistakes on my part.
Increasing the size of our family is not going as swimmingly as expected. We are two healthy and fit individuals. We don’t smoke. We barely drink alcohol. Not that it matters, but we don’t even consume caffeine! And yet, we’ve been trying for more than two years, and it didn’t happen yet. As a next step, we’ll try in vitro fertilization (IVF).
On a positive note in this area, I became an uncle this year!
I spent quite a bit of my year traveling (and that’s not including the upcoming vacation). My wife and I went to see the northern lights in Norway. We spent a month living in Berlin for my work. We went to see Harry Styles in Munich. We were supposed to see Arctic Monkeys in Dublin, but the lead singer got sick, and we learned about it when we were already in Dublin. My mom and I went on a trip through Schwarzwald. This was the most driving I did so far (~800km in five days). I also had my first traffic accident. More on that below.
My dad died. More of my thoughts are in the linked blog post. I’m ok now. I do get these occasional moments when I remember and start thinking about my dad because of some environmental triggers. I suspect these will never fully subside.
I learned about my dad’s death while my mom and I were on a Schwarzwald trip. The traffic accident happened the following morning after we learned about what happened. Luckily, only a parking lot gate arm and a signpost were harmed. A few scratches on the car were covered by insurance. The local policeman was very friendly and understanding.
I was really into running during 2013-2016, culminating with a 1:42:51 half marathon in 2015. I started running more frequently again last year. I ran more than 750km in total in 2023, including a 1:40:42 half marathon, finishing 264th out of 1731 runners at “Vilniaus maratonas.” The last few kilometers were hell (as you can see on my face in the linked video), as I pushed myself too hard at the start. Not bad, but I hope I’ll do better next year!
I continue to work at Vinted! It’s been eleven years, and I see no reason to switch jobs. Sustainability continues to be important to me and the company is doing great - we continue to expand our Vinted Go network (including through acquisitions and improving the experience of selling on Vinted (e.g., launching a verification service for luxury fashion.
My title at work changed from “VP of Engineering” to “CTO”. The biggest change in what is expected of me happened almost two years ago - when Vinted Go was split into a separate business unit. Since then, it has been about growing into this slightly different role and showing that I’m capable. I’m thankful for the trust given to me. I don’t feel like I reached some mountaintop; I continue to feel that there are many ways to improve and grow. If anything, the heavier title means I must be even more humble and maintain a growth mindset.
I gave up the steering of Vilnius Tech Leads into better hands than mine. I even had a lot of fun participating in one of the events as a speaker instead of an organiser.
LLMs were a big topic in the world of technology this year. I use ChatGPT quite often (including to help plan the upcoming vacation), and I suspect that by the end of next year, using products powered by LLMs will become a daily norm for many people. I am incredibly excited about the combination of headsets like the upcoming Apple Vision Pro when combined with smarter AI assistants. These two technologies seem to provide the missing pieces to each other (quicker feedback loops are essential!).
It would be easy to focus on the negative. My dad died this year. The war in Ukraine continues. The war in Gaza started. And yet, as I write this, I remain positive and optimistic. There are a lot of positive things happening in my life. I’m healthy, fulfilled, and have good relationships. And when I zoom out to look beyond, I see more good in the world than bad. I remain optimistic about the long-term future of humanity.
See you in 2024.
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