I need to tell you something.

I'm not going to sugarcoat this.

I'm not going to give you some

motivational speech with a beat drop and

cinematic b-roll.

I'm just going to talk to you like a

brother.

Like someone who's been where you are

because I've been at the bottom. Not

once, not twice, but three times.

[music] And every single time I was

convinced, genuinely convinced, that my

life was over. That there was no coming

back. That I [music] was too far gone.

I was wrong every time. And if you're

sitting there right now thinking the

same thing about yourself, that it's too

late, that you missed your window, that

you're not smart enough, not young

enough, not lucky enough, I need you to

hear me out. Just [music] give me a few

minutes because what I'm about to tell

you is real. This actually happened to

me.

>> [music]

>> And if it can happen for someone like

me, bro, it can happen for you.

So, picture this. I'm 19. I think I've

got life figured out. I've got my high

school girlfriend. My parents are

together. Things are normal. And then

boom, all of it gone. Same time, my girl

left, my parents split. It was like

somebody pulled the floor out from under

me and I just kept falling. I didn't

handle it well. I'm not going to sit

here and pretend I was strong. I wasn't.

I went off the deep end. Parties every

night, drugs, hanging out with people

who didn't care about me and I didn't

care about them. We were all just

numbing ourselves together. I was

reckless. I was angry. I was hurting and

I wanted everyone around me to feel it.

My mom, man, my mom watched all of this

happen. You got to understand, as a

parent now, I can't even imagine what

that was like for her. Watching your kid

self-destruct and not being able to stop

it. She gave me a choice. She said, "You

can stay here and keep doing this or you

can come with me to Korea." New Year's

Day 2009, we got on that plane and bro,

I had nothing. I didn't speak Korean. I

had no friends, no job, no skills. I

couldn't read a street sign. The Korean

alphabet looked like little stick

figures doing karate. I'm not even

joking. Everything felt foreign and I

felt so incredibly alone. But here's the

thing nobody tells you about hitting

rock bottom in a place where you know

absolutely no one. You can't hide from

yourself anymore. Back home, I had

distractions. I had the noise. In Korea,

it was just me sitting with all my

garbage, all my mistakes, all the stuff

I'd been running from. So, I did the

only thing I could do. I started over

from zero. I studied the language. I

talked to strangers even though I

sounded ridiculous. I built tiny pieces

of confidence one awkward conversation

at a time. Korea stripped me down to

nothing, but it also showed me that I

could rebuild. That I wasn't just the

sum of my worst decisions. That there

was something underneath all that mess

worth saving. After a while, I started

feeling like myself again. Or maybe for

the first time, I started feeling like

the person I was supposed to be. And I

thought, "Okay, I'm ready. I can go back

to the states now. I've grown. I've

changed."

Yeah.

About that.

I'm going to be straight with you. What

happened next is the part of my story I

hate telling. But I'm telling you

because I need you to know that relapses

don't make you a failure. They make you

human. My friends picked me up from the

airport. First day back and within

minutes, I'm talking minutes, somebody

handed me a blunt and I hit it. I wish I

could tell you I said no. I wish I could

tell you I was stronger than that, but I

wasn't. One hit and it was like a switch

flipped. Within days, I was right back

in it. Partying, selling, lying to my

mom on the phone while she's across the

ocean thinking her son is doing better.

It got bad so fast. I lost my place. I

was bouncing between motels, crashing on

people's couches, sometimes just out on

the street with nothing. I was selling

anything I could get my hands on to feed

an opiate addiction that was eating me

alive. And then, this is the part that

still makes my stomach turn. I ended up

in a trap house. You know what I'm

talking about. Not the ones you see in

rap videos, the real ones. Dark, dirty,

gambling machines in the corner, people

passed out on the floor, people you

don't even recognize as people anymore

because the drugs took everything from

them. And I was one of those people.

Then I ended up in jail and I want you

to understand what that feels like when

you're in there alone. No phone, no

passport, nobody coming, just you and

the walls and the realization that you

did this to yourself. My dad wouldn't

pick up. My mom was on the other side of

the world. And the worst part wasn't

even being locked up. The worst part was

looking at myself and having absolutely

no idea who I was anymore. Like the real

me was gone. And I didn't know if he was

ever coming back. That was my second

rock bottom. And at that point,

honestly, I didn't know if I deserved to

come back. But my parents, and I'll

never fully understand this, they gave

me another chance. Grace I did not earn.

Mercy I did not deserve. They got me

back to Korea. When I landed, my mom

didn't even yell. She didn't scream. She

just looked at me quiet, disappointed.

And bro, that silence, that silence was

louder than anything anyone has ever

said to me. It's the silence that tells

you the people who love you the most

have stopped expecting anything from

you. I told myself right then, "Never

again. This is the last time. I will not

waste this." So, I worked. I taught

English. I saved every penny I could. I

built a routine. Wake up, work, come

home, repeat. Nothing glamorous, nothing

exciting, just discipline. Just showing

up. Five years went by like that and I

was 30 and I was alive, which is more

than I expected, honestly. But I was

just surviving, paycheck to paycheck, no

real career, no direction, just a guy

grinding day and night with nothing to

show for it except the fact that I

wasn't dead or in jail.

Okay, so here's where it turns. I'm

sitting at home one night playing

Madden, just zoning out. Then I look

over and there's this brochure on the

table, a coding boot camp. I picked it

up randomly a few days before, didn't

think much of it, but something about it

caught my eye that night. I picked it

up, I read it and I made the call. Then

I did something that at that time felt

insane. I sold my car, my only car,

and I used that money to pay for the

boot camp. Looking back, that was the

best decision I ever made in my entire

life. I threw myself into it. Coding all

day, coding all night, tutorials,

YouTube videos, projects that broke,

code that didn't work, errors I couldn't

understand. Stack Overflow at 3:00 a.m.

wondering why I thought I could do this.

But I kept going because what was the

alternative? Go back to I was? Nah, not

happening. Years went by. I kept

building. I met my wife. We had our son.

Life started to feel like something I

actually wanted to be a part of again,

not just something I was enduring. And

then I got my first real break. A

company hired me as a senior developer

to build a mental health app. Hundreds

of thousands of people ended up using

this thing. I remember being on the

subway in Seoul and looking over at

someone's phone and seeing my app on

their screen. Bro, that feeling, I built

that with my hands, with the brain that

everyone, including myself, had written

off. After that, I got brought on by a

multi seven-figure company to lead the

development of a social media platform

for 300,000 users. I was making six

figures. I was leading a dev team. I was

a tech lead. Me, the kid from the trap

house, the guy who couldn't read Korean

bus signs, leading a dev team. Life was

good. Like actually good. For the first

time ever.

And then, the whole firm got laid off. I

came home that day and I just sat down.

Didn't say anything. It felt like the

universe was testing me again. Seeing if

I'd crumble. Seeing if old Phil would

come back. But here's what was different

this time. This time, I had a skill. A

real, tangible, portable skill that

nobody could take from me. I didn't have

a degree from MIT. I wasn't some

prodigy. I was a dude who picked one

thing and got really, really good at it.

Did the fear hit? Yeah, for like a

minute, I felt that old tightness in my

chest. The voice saying, "What now?" The

weight of being a husband and a dad and

knowing people depend on you. But then I

opened my laptop, updated my resume,

started reaching out to my network and I

was back. Not just back, better,

stronger, more confident than ever

because this time I knew something I

didn't know before. The skill doesn't go

away. The market might shift. Companies

might fold. But what I know how to do,

that lives in me. That goes wherever I

go.

Nine months after that layoff, I looked

around and realized I had built

something I never planned to build. I

had my own company, my own dev team, a

YouTube channel that was actually

growing. But the thing that hit me the

hardest, the thing I didn't see coming,

was the mentorship. That first year, I

helped about a dozen people land tech

roles. And bro, watching someone else go

through what I went through, the

self-doubt, the imposter syndrome, the

fear, and then watching them push

through it and get that offer letter,

that wrecked me in the best way because

I saw myself in every single one of

them. Every person who told me, "I don't

think I can do this." That was me at 30

sitting in a boot camp wondering if I

was too old. Every person who said, "I

failed too many times." That was me in a

trap house thinking my life was over.

And I got to be the person I wish I had

when I was going through it. That

changed me.

But let me tell you about 2025 because

2025 is when everything levels up. In 1

year, one single year, we helped over 40

people land real tech jobs. I'm not

talking about random gigs. I'm talking

big tech startups that are building the

future. Companies that would have

laughed at half of these people's

resumes a year earlier. 40 people who

were told no over and over and over and

then finally heard yes. Every single one

of those wins gutted me emotionally

because I know what that moment feels

like. When you open that email and your

hands are shaking and you read the

words, "We'd like to extend an offer."

Bro, there's nothing like it. Nothing.

And I got to watch 40 people feel that

this year. But here's the part I really

want to talk about because the jobs, the

numbers, that's the result.

The real story is what happened behind

the scenes. The team behind Ledfill

became a family. And I need you to

understand I am not using that word

loosely.

I mean it the way you mean it when you

talk about the people you'd go to war

with. It started as just me, a camera, a

story, and slowly, one by one, people

started showing up who didn't just want

to learn. They wanted to build with me.

They wanted to be part of something. The

boys. We went through it together. Even

the girls. Late nights on calls

debugging code at 1:00 a.m. Celebrating

when someone in the mentorship landed a

job like we just won the championship.

Picking each other up when things fell

apart. Real stuff, not business stuff,

life stuff. And then there's Jocelyn, my

very first mentee. She came in not

knowing if she belonged in tech. And now

she's part of the core team. She didn't

just learn to code. She became one of

the pillars of this whole thing. When I

say she's family, Vin Diesel. I mean, if

this was a dinner table, she has a

permanent seat. This thing we built, it

stopped being a business a long time

ago. It's a lifetime thing now. It's

people who chose each other. People who

kept showing up when it was hard. And

that's rarer than any job offer or any

paycheck. That's the part of Ledfill

that I'm most proud of.

We crossed 100,000 subscribers on

YouTube and I need to be real with you

about how that felt because it wasn't

what you'd expect. The first thing I

felt wasn't pride, it was fear. It was

the weight of it because 100,000 people

looked at me and said,

"I trust you. I believe in your story. I

want to learn from you." And that is a

heavy thing to carry when you know where

you came from. I'm not the guy who's

supposed to be here. I'm the guy from

the trap house, the jail cell, the

couch, and now 100,000 people are

counting on me to show them the way.

That terrifies me in the most beautiful

way possible because it means I can't

coast. It means the content has to get

better. The education has to get

sharper. The results have to get bigger.

Every video I put out, every mentorship

session, every single interaction, it

has to matter. It has to move someone

forward. 100K isn't a trophy to me. It's

a promise. A promise that I will keep

going harder,

keep getting better, keep showing up for

the people who showed up for me.

So here's what we're doing. And I want

you to pay attention because this is

where you come in. The mission is to

create 1,000 senior developers. 1,000

people who can walk into any room, any

company, any startup, any interview, and

perform at the highest level. 1,000

people who never have to feel trapped

again. Who never have to stay at a job

they hate because they have no other

options. Who can provide for their

families, build their own futures, and

know that no matter what happens,

layoffs, recessions, whatever, they have

a skill that travels with them. That's

what we're building. And we're going to

do it by helping more people break into

this crazy, competitive, sometimes

brutal job market. I know how hard it is

out there. I watch my mentees send 200,

300 applications. I watch them get

ghosted, get rejected, get told they're

not enough. And then I watch them keep

going. And eventually, eventually, they

break through. 1,000 senior developers.

That's not a slogan. That's the mission.

And every single person who joins this

community, every single person who drops

a comment, who shows up to a session,

who pushes through one more day of

studying when they want to quit, you're

a part of it.

So let me talk to you directly for a

second. Like it's just me and you. I

know you're tired. I know you've been

grinding and it feels like nothing's

working. I know you look at people who

made it and think they had something you

don't. I know because I thought the same

thing for years. But the thing you do

today, right now, that's going to shape

who you are 6 months from now. And 6

months from now, you're either going to

be grateful you started or you're going

to wish you had. So if you want to learn

to code, if you want a way out, do me a

favor. Pause this video, go to

freeCodeCamp. It's completely free.

Start learning JavaScript. It's the most

beginner-friendly

and powerful language to start. 1 hour a

day, that's it. 1 hour.

You've got 1 hour. I know you do. You

spent more time than that scrolling

today. Give that hour to yourself

instead. Join a community.

Join our community. Drop a comment right

now that says, "I'm starting today."

Because when you say it out loud or type

it where people can see, it becomes

real.

It becomes a commitment. 6 months from

now, you might have a job offer. You

might have a freelance client. You might

have a project you built from scratch

that you can point to and say, "Hey, I

made that." Something no one can take

from you ever. This isn't some fantasy.

It's a plan. It's the same plan I

followed. It's the same plan 40 people

followed this year. And it works.

Listen to me. I thought my life was over

three separate times. Three.

And every single time I was wrong. So if

you're sitting there thinking the same

thing right now, you're wrong, too. Drop

me in Mexico, Costa Rica, some village

in the middle of nowhere in Asia, give

me a laptop [music] and Wi-Fi,

I'll rebuild

because I've done it before. Multiple

[music] times. And if I can do it, bro,

you can do it, too. You're not too far

gone.

>> [music]

>> You're not too old. You're not too late.

You're just early in your story.

Everything up to this point, that was

the [music] backstory. That was the

setup. The real chapters haven't been

written yet. So start today,

build something, learn a skill,

and bet on yourself [music]

because nobody else is going to do it

for you.

But when you start, when you actually

commit, you'll be shocked at how many

people show up to help. I showed up for

40 people this [music] year. I'll show

up for a thousand more. And if you want

me to show up for you,

I'm right here. Coding saved my life and

I'll never stop saying that because it's

the truest [music] thing I know. Let's

go start today and just remember,

if I can do it, you can do it, too.

Coding saves lives.