My father was a self-taught tech guy. He was born in the early 1960s, near Troy in Türkiye. His parents were already too elderly to raise him properly, and there was almost nothing left in the village for him. Instead, they sent him to Istanbul, where his older siblings had already moved to find work. As a very late and unexpected child, my dad felt quite unwanted wherever he went. I guess he became a resourceful problem-solver just to survive. Despite his difficult upbringing, which left him with very little formal education and poor writing skills, he was a natural; he could fix almost anything as long as he could disassemble it first. In 1980s Istanbul, he earned several certificates and thousands of hours of experience as an electrician. He was also a part-time photographer, a tailor, a cook, a hunter and a heavy machine operator. I still wonder how a man with such talent managed to stay out of trouble and why we were still poor when he retired. Maybe the first was the reason for the second—who knows.

My mother was born the same year as my father. She grew up in a rural town rather than a remote village and received a proper education. Having elderly but caring parents made my mom a different kind of problem-solver. Since she was born with boundless energy and high intelligence, she took on household responsibilities at age seven, and her family continued to expect much of her. Thanks to her excellent communication skills and education, she handled paperwork for the entire neighborhood and navigated government bureaucracy for others. She also earned certificates as a tailor and a baker. It is bittersweet to know that I am the son of a natural engineer and a natural lawyer who never received degrees, simply because my grandparents were too old to keep them in school.

I was born in the early 1990s with Cerebral Palsy, a problem neither of my parents could solve. It was as if God saw their problem-solving skills and presented them with a baby with Cerebral Palsy, asking, ‘What about now?’ Each attacked the problem in their own way. My mother started reading books about physical therapy and searching for the best rehabilitation centers, while my father started building special toys for me that would improve my motor skills. Even though we could barely pay the rent, we had a famiclone and a brick game console at home. This financial strain was largely due to my disability, as rehabilitation was very costly at the time. Physical therapy constituted the majority of the rehab, involving truly challenging practices. Some of the exercises were comparable to the training of professional athletes, though we were not even racing. With an ambitious mother like mine, physical therapy could become so demanding that I started questioning life at age three. Rehabilitation also included sessions focused on mental capacity. Since professional staff was limited in Türkiye in those years, group sessions had to include kids with different ranges of impairments. I usually excelled in the sessions that required answering questions or solving puzzles. My mental performance at least satisfied some of my mother’s expectations, and I felt accomplished. I guess that pretending to be the smartest person in the room became my intuitive solution to a harsh childhood.

I have a vivid memory of my family when I was nine old. We were setting up a giant tent at the start of a summer camp. They needed to join the iron poles in a specific way to lock the frame. However, they struggled to align the very top of the roof, as it required connecting three oddly-angled edges. The sun was going down, and they were already exhausted from packing the car, driving with two kids to the camp area, and unloading our things. While they were arguing over the orientation, I hesitantly suggested a specific angle they seemed to be missing. They were frustrated but attentive. They listened to me and tried what I suggested. It was the correct orientation, which allowed them to complete the rest of the frame. They thanked me and made me feel like we had built the tent together. That day, I realized I could observe and solve problems despite my disability, and help others when they are struggling. I don’t know if I’m a natural, but I’ve felt great trying to solve a problem ever since that camping trip with my family.

Fast forward to 2003, the golden age of technology was about to kick off. My father owned the latest cell phones, and we rented CDs where we were fascinated by Hollywood. I followed sports via teletext. We were the most techy family on the block and felt destined to become something big. Although we had no capital, it felt almost certain that my father was about to make a fortune from smartphones or drones. Given his interests in electronics and guns, we could have even prototyped something for the military before Baykar. If only he could have lived a few more years. It was our last camp. Six months later, we lost him to lung cancer. Given his unhealthy childhood, even surviving until forty-two was a success for him. Now, life was demanding more from my mother, and she was expecting more from me. First, I became emotional support for her, then an advisor, then a leader. I still cannot believe that I have been the breadwinner of the house for more than fifteen years. Thanks to God, I am also able to support my other relatives and anyone who needs someone to depend on.

I often see people wondering how to raise independent children or foster problem-solving skills. My answer is simple but brutal: just let them struggle. In fact, you have to let them observe you struggling from time to time. But I don’t mean fabricated struggles. Activities like failing a piano class or attending a gym session don’t teach them much because there are no immediate consequences. Go camping with them, hiking or fishing together, fix the car, or cook something. Put your kids in challenges that require them to overcome hunger or sleeplessness together. I hear people say they cannot afford a vacation. No, what they cannot afford is the flight and a comfortable hotel room. Those things would make your life easier and teach your kid nothing. Climbing the nearest hill to your home barefoot before lunch, on the other hand, costs almost nothing but makes your kids feel like they have achieved something. Plus, they will have to climb down faster to eat. Only challenges that limit their immediate needs can truly foster growth. Please do not overvalue the importance of self-esteem for your kids. Consider a one-year-old who cannot speak yet. Loving her as she is doesn’t mean you shouldn’t challenge her to speak. The same principle applies to a nine-year-old and a fourteen-year-old. Setting expectations and gently pushing them out of their comfort zone benefits them more in life than unconditional love alone, unless you can leave them a fortune. Even in that case, someone will eventually challenge them. As a parent, you need to challenge them before life does.

This principle of “struggle fosters growth” is not just for children; it is the foundation of building a high-performing team, especially when hiring Gen Z. I don’t believe in sheltering young talent from hard, meaningful problems. Instead, I seek out the top-tier junior Gen Z talent and challenge them with R&D problems that demand resilience and unconventional thinking. They don’t just want a job; they crave purpose and want to know how their work contributes to a collective success. A leader’s job is not to make the work easy, but to provide clarity on the mission, set expectations, and give them the space to overcome the difficult problems together. When you stop guarding them from the struggle and instead entrust them with real responsibility, you find that this generation has an immense, purpose-driven capacity for solving complex challenges.

Ultimately, whether in the quiet corners of a childhood home, on a windy camping trip, or within the high-stakes environment of a modern R&D lab, the core of growth remains the same: the willingness to face struggle head-on. My life has been a testament to the fact that our most profound capabilities are not born from comfort, but forged through the necessity of solving the problems we are handed. By embracing resilience and refusing to shield those we lead—be they our children or the next generation of talent—from meaningful challenges, we honor their potential. We provide them with the greatest gift possible: the confidence to know that no matter the obstacle, they have the capacity to find a way through.