Every hackathon has a night before. The quiet hours when everything is set up but nothing has started. The tables are arranged. The wifi is tested. The snacks are stocked. And you're alone with the question: will anyone show up?
I've had a lot of those nights. From Kingston in 2015 to Miami Hack Week to countless Devpost hackathons. Each one feels the same. The anticipation. The doubt. The strange calm before the chaos.
Kingston, 2015
The first night before was in Jamaica. I was sixteen. We had rented a space, convinced some sponsors to give us money, and told fifty-two people to show up the next morning.
The Setup
Jamaica's first hackathon. Fifty-two participants. Thirty hours. One room. Zero playbook.
I remember walking through the empty space that night, checking and rechecking everything. Were there enough power strips? Would the internet hold? Did we have enough food? Would anyone actually come?
The doubt was overwhelming. There was no tech scene in Jamaica. No precedent for what we were doing. Just a teenager with an idea and a room full of empty chairs.
What You Learn
Over the years, I've learned that the night before is always the same. It doesn't matter if it's fifty people or five thousand. The doubt is identical.
“The night before teaches you that confidence isn't the absence of doubt. It's the decision to proceed anyway.
You learn to trust the preparation. You learn that most problems are solvable in the moment. You learn that the energy of a room full of builders has a momentum of its own.
The Morning After
The morning always surprises you. People show up. They bring energy you didn't expect. They form teams with strangers. They start building things.
The transformation is remarkable. The empty room becomes a hive. The doubt becomes irrelevant. The night before becomes a distant memory.
The Pattern
I've seen this pattern hundreds of times now. The anxiety of the night before. The energy of the morning. The magic of watching strangers become collaborators.
Why It Matters
I think about the night before a lot. Not because of the anxiety, but because of what it represents.
Every hackathon is an act of faith. You're betting that if you create the conditions, people will show up and build something meaningful. You're betting that strangers can become teammates in hours. You're betting that a deadline and a shared space can unlock creativity that wouldn't exist otherwise.
“The night before is when you confront the bet you've made. And every morning after is proof that the bet was worth making.
The Quiet Hours
There's something sacred about those quiet hours. The space between preparation and execution. The moment when everything is possible because nothing has happened yet.
I've learned to appreciate them. To use them for reflection rather than anxiety. To remember why we do this in the first place.
We do it because we believe in what happens when people build together. We do it because we've seen the magic enough times to trust it. We do it because the morning always comes, and it's always better than we feared.
A Decade Later
I've been doing this for over a decade now. The venues have changed. The scale has grown. The stakes have increased. But the night before is always the same.
And honestly? I hope it never changes. The doubt is part of it. The anticipation is part of it. The quiet hours are part of it.
Because without the night before, the morning wouldn't mean as much.
