My brother Santiago doesn’t work in tech. As fas as I know, he’s never queried a database or built a piece of software. But he’s a hell of an outdoorsman and, despite being as big as a bear, he’s one of the most emotionally aware people I know. A couple years ago, the family and I visited him in Corvallis, Oregon, where he was at university — or as he calls it… “Corvegas” 😂. We were there for a multi-day rafting trip down the Deschutes River. I expected adventure, which I got, but I also learned something I’ll never forget. I want to tell you about it and then apply it to some of the scenarios that I think make sense to the world of tech.

The Deschutes River winds through Oregon’s high desert, carving a path between towering cliffs and dense forests. Throughout a rafting trip, you encounter other groups out in the wild, in a setting far removed from daily life. When you pass people on the busy city streets, they blur into the background like NPCs. But on the river, every encounter feels significant, and there’s always that moment of hesitation before greeting a fellow adventurer.

While I was on the raft with Santiago, we spotted another group ahead at some point. He immediately raised his hand to wave, and noticed my slight hesitation. “Always be first to say hi,” he said with that gentle giant smile of his. “It doesn’t matter if it feels awkward or if they don’t respond — you do what’s right. It makes the river a better place.” Simple words, but they resonated strongly with me out there on the water, where everything feels real and life has a chance to slow down. When I told my dad about this conversation, he added another layer that stuck with me. “Being confident enough in yourself to be the first one to say hi — that shows real strength,” he said. And he’s right.

That moment of hesitation exists everywhere, from the river to the office. The universal human experience is one of wondering "should I?", "what if they react badly?" and "will I feel uncomfortable?". I face it constantly — during sales calls when I’m showing what we’ve built and face the possibility of rejection, in the office when sharing an unfinished idea, and even every time I step onto a tennis court, something I’ve been doing all my life, uncertain of how I will play today.

Building Querio, I’ve had to show unfinished products and ideas to investors, users and potential customers. Many times, it felt like being that awkward person on the river, wanting to wave but hesitating. I've gone as far as getting so nervous before a sales call that I catch myself hoping for a last-minute cancellation. Many of those didn’t wave back — aka, they said no. But the ones who did? They became part of our journey, precisely because we were real and vulnerable with them, found the courage to say hi, and connected on our values and the depth of our ideas.

In tech, we often hide behind fancy terms, pretend we know everything, or keep our ideas to ourselves. Teams from engineering, data, product, marketing, sales, design, you name it, often act like strangers on opposite riverbanks. Each speaking their own language, neither wanting to wave first. But most breakthroughs I've witnessed started with someone dropping their guard and reaching across that river: "Let's figure this out together - you understand things I don't, and I might have insights that could help too.”

That’s actually why we pour so much work into Querio — to make it okay to ask those “obvious” questions, to explore without feeling stupid and to help people from all technical levels to better understand their business. Because at the end of the day, technology isn’t about who knows the most complex data structure or who can hide behind the fanciest business proposal. It’s about people helping people.

So yeah, my brother might not know Python from JavaScript, but he taught me something more valuable: walls come down one “hi” at a time. Be kind, be vulnerable, it’s the right thing to do. Whether you’re on a river in Oregon or in an office in London, being the first to reach out or ask a question isn’t weakness — it’s courage. And nothing meaningful has even been built without courage.