The room in that unas­sum­ing, almost ugly office build­ing smelled like spilled beer and sweat. Con­crete walls, neon lights, cables run­ning along the ceil­ing, a cheap PA sys­tem hum­ming some­where in the cor­ner. Peo­ple leaned against each oth­er on fold­ing chairs, scrolling through their phones, wait­ing for the next per­son who would walk on stage and say the one thing we are all trained not to admit: »I failed.«