My relationship with computers has been… complicated.

In elementary school in East Germany, I joined a little programming class where we wrote simple programs in BASIC on ancient black-and-white machines.

I still remember the thrill of making a tiny heart bounce around the screen.

But then came high school. The computer class was uninspiring and boring, and the teacher didn’t care. I decided then and there: never again.

Of course, in college, I forgot that promise and signed up for a computer science course — only to find myself sitting on the stairs of an overflowing lecture hall while someone at the front talked about Turing machines.

I didn’t understand a word of it. After a few weeks, I walked away — again.

But as it turns out, some things have a way of finding you.

At the end of my master’s, my thesis lab worked on molecular dynamics simulations. I was suddenly dropped onto a Linux box with no clue what I was doing and no one to guide me. I flailed, but eventually started figuring it out.

By the time I started my PhD, I deliberately joined a computational lab — even though all I really knew how to do was write a few basic Perl scripts. I taught myself more, but still felt like I didn’t know what “good” code looked like.

So at the end of my PhD, I decided to fix that. I joined another computational lab working on Rosetta, a massive C++ codebase, and learned from everyone around me — including an undergrad CS major who taught me more than she probably realized.

Looking back, what started as a few bouncing BASIC hearts turned into something much bigger. Not because I was naturally good at it — but because I stayed curious, kept trying, and asked for help when I needed it.

If you’re staring at something that feels impossible or intimidating right now — remember: you don’t have to be a natural. You just have to keep showing up.