How choosing constraint created freedom — and why betting on Bulgaria is a bet on possibility.
The Paradox of Choice
Most stories end with tears. This one begins with them.
We’re in my Plovdiv apartment for our second conversation. Natanail settles into the chair across from me with the kind of focused intensity that suggests a mind forever working across multiple layers of meaning. Outside, the ancient city hums — Roman theater, communist blocks, gleaming startups — a place where past and future collide the way only Bulgaria manages.
Earlier, he spoke about wanting Bulgarians to have more faith in their potential — to believe that real change is possible. It’s a sentiment that resonates with anyone who chooses to build something meaningful here.
“I love that vision,” I tell him. “You know, my wife Kalina and I still get people asking, ‘Are you already regretting moving to Bulgaria?’ No — why would we regret it?”
He laughs, warm and genuine. “I love that vision too. In June 2023, I’d spent six weeks in London. My wife joined after a month. One Friday night the British Museum hosted an evening dedicated to Bulgarian culture. I cried my eyes out listening to Bulgarian music. I’ve never been an immigrant — it was just six weeks — and I missed the country and everything we have so much.”
By every rational measure, he could have left and never looked back. He didn’t.
“What is your true face now in this conversation?” I ask early on, referring to something he’d said about using different names for different facets of himself.
“I’m just an ordinary guy with probably an ordinary story,” he replies, cutting through any pretense.
But as the hours unfold, it’s clear that ordinary stories, lived with intention, become extraordinary through the accumulation of conscious choices. This is what makes his journey compelling: not the glamour of impossible odds, but the discipline of deliberate decisions.
“I love Bulgaria. This is true,” Natanail says without performative patriotism. “When I was a kid, I lived for a time in the US and Switzerland.”
It was the 1990s — years when Bulgaria hemorrhaged talent as families fled post‑communist collapse. “By the time I was ten, I’d already lived in two of the places many consider the best in the world. My parents raised me to love my country and my nation. We could have stayed abroad. They chose to return. What began as their decision became mine.”
Each time he could have left or advanced elsewhere, he chose Bulgaria — not out of necessity, but conviction. The choice carries a particular responsibility: it’s no longer only about personal success; it’s about justifying the choice through contribution.
This is the paradox of choice he embodies: by choosing constraint, he discovered freedom.
The Eternal‑Value Framework
“I’m very sociable. I love being around people,” he says, then goes deeper. “I’m also a person of faith. Business often pits short‑term against long‑term focus. I want to invest in things that have eternal value — not just short‑term or long‑term.”
That triad — short‑term, long‑term, eternal — illuminates everything else we discuss. It’s not just philosophy; it’s an operating system for evaluating opportunities. Where others might weigh risk and reward in quarters or fiscal years, Natanail measures impact in generations.
“I work hard because I want to see real change. Real change comes from work — smart work first, and sometimes hard work too. If you’d met me a few years ago, our conversation would have been different. People grow. My worldview has evolved a lot.”
Here, too, lies a lesson about identity. Growth doesn’t erase the past but reframes it. Faith, for him, isn’t passive belief but active investment in things that outlast him.
When we shift to his startup, GRVTY, the eternal‑value framework turns concrete.
“Why sports?” I ask. “You chose a tight niche with fascinating money flows.”
“It’s a niche — a very big one,” he says. “If football were a religion, it would be the largest on Earth — billions of fans. Do something here, even something small, and your chances of relevance are high.”
What’s remarkable is where GRVTY points its energy. While much of sport tech chases the Messis and LeBrons, Natanail builds for everyone else.
“Industry attention centers on the 0.5% — the elite stars and clubs. There’s huge value in the long tail: grassroots, overlooked, underfunded.”
GRVTY focuses on young athletes, women, and athletes of color — groups that face systemic barriers to resources and advancement. “Young athletes are the future, and many drop out for financial reasons despite talent. How many potential world‑class players never get a chance simply for lack of support?”
The conversation flows to Novak Djokovic’s near‑abandonment of tennis as a child during NATO bombings, a reminder that talent often survives on the knife‑edge of circumstance.
Female athletes, too, remain underfunded and under-promoted, even when they perform at the highest level. And athletes of color, or minority groups like Latinos in the US, face systemic limits: celebrated when performing, forgotten when injured.
The GRVTY mission responds to this inequity not through politics but through product. Build a technology that channels visibility, recognition, and revenue to the underserved. Build a platform where the underdog has a fighting chance.
“How does learning from their struggles make you a better startup?” I ask.
“Resilience and adaptability,” he answers. “A risk of time in any industry is thinking you know it all. We’re underdogs too — small country, mostly bootstrapped. The limit isn’t the sky; it’s mindset. If you’re going to invest effort anyway, build for scale. Start small, win small, climb tiers — from five to three to one.”
For him, entrepreneurship echoes sport: competition sharpens, failure teaches, persistence pays.
I bring up a documentary that captures this idea perfectly: In Search of Greatness, which explores the lives of the greatest athletes across sports. It tells the story of Garrincha, the Brazilian legend and Pelé’s idol, whose knees bent inward — a physical quirk many considered a weakness. Yet it became his greatest advantage, because defenders could never predict his movements. The film also highlights Wayne Gretzky, widely regarded as the greatest hockey player of all time, who summed up his edge with striking simplicity: “I wasn’t the fastest, but I knew where the puck would be.”
As we talk about the film, the pattern becomes clear: greatness often comes not from perfecting conventional strengths, but from turning perceived weaknesses into unique advantages. That logic extends to Bulgaria’s place in the global economy — not as a deficit to overcome, but as a perspective to leverage.
This becomes a recurring motif in Natanail’s worldview: constraint as catalyst. Scarcity, when met with imagination, can generate abundance.
The Wall and the Door
Abstract philosophy meets practice at Sofia Tech Park, where Natanail serves as vice‑chair.
“How did you get there?” I ask.
“I prefer to tell it plainly,” he says. “In many state‑owned companies around the world, political ties often determine appointments. I have no party affiliations.”
Since 2012 he’d taught at Sofia University and volunteered widely. In 2017, the dean — appointed caretaker Minister of Economy — texted: What are we going to do about entrepreneurship and innovation?
“He invited me to advise. We formed a five‑person team from the startup community.”
Then comes his metaphor for systemic change: “Before, we were entrepreneurs hitting a wall. Inside government, we became part of the wall — able to open a door or a window for others to pass through.”
One urgent task: Sofia Tech Park. In three years it had cycled through sixteen board appointments. Turnover bred paralysis; unsigned documents and unpaid bills edged the company toward technical bankruptcy.
“It was 10:30 p.m. in the ministry. We were exhausted and energized. The minister said, ‘Nato, join the board.’ I resisted — the park’s reputation was bad. He said, ‘It’ll be two months; the next minister will fire you.’”
He accepted. “It became the best job I’d had. My day job finally matched my volunteer passion. For five months I did one thing — fifteen hours a day — building the tech park.”
He was fired by the next minister, as predicted. Yet he returned through public procedures and subsequent administrations. Continuity and competence, it turned out, can outlast cycles.
“Is the transformation finished?” I ask.
“No. You’ll still meet people with negative opinions. But we’re not who we were when I hesitated to join.”
The most challenging step? “People. In any transformation, criticism is easy. The discipline is: if you don’t have a better idea, be quiet — or, if you do, be willing to pay the price and commit years of your life.”
He mentions a Saturday call during COVID from the CEO of EnduroSat, one of Bulgaria’s respected space companies. The CEO had attended a conference at the park and was surprised by the energy. That call opened collaborations in space technology — labs, academies, ongoing programs. Reputation shifts slowly, then suddenly.
Change, for Natanail, isn’t about dramatic announcements but incremental persistence. Trust built over coffees, partnerships formed in late‑night phone calls, credibility earned by showing up again and again. That’s how swamps become gardens.
I share a framework that guides my priorities: needs, wants, wishes. Build systems that cover 90% of needs. Negotiate 9% of wants with your team and family. Be alone for the 1% of wishes.
“So — for Bulgaria — what are your needs, wants, wishes?”
“My needs? Honestly, nothing specific,” he says. “The last three years were the hardest of my life. I traveled a lot. Coming home — my own bed, friends, parents, neighborhood, the country — I’m just grateful.”
“My wants? What I’ve worked toward for years: a more open, positive mindset. We live in one of the best places on Earth — weather, people, food, nature. Yes, we have issues — those are opportunities. Bulgaria is a land of limitless possibility.”
“And my wish — that 1%? More faith. Faith that things can be different and that we can change the world. In Silicon Valley you feel the belief that nothing is impossible. If we adopt even a fraction of that mindset here, the transformation would be remarkable.”
Faith, in his telling, isn’t naivety. It’s fuel — the inner conviction that mobilizes external action.
The Circle Completed
What connects us isn’t only our choice to bet on Bulgaria. It’s a shared understanding that home isn’t just where you’re from; it’s where you choose to invest your best work and deepest hopes.
That night at the British Museum, crying over Bulgarian folk music, Natanail recognized something essential: he had found his work, and his work had found him — together building something neither could have imagined alone.
“If we root ourselves in our home, our history, our culture — seeing where we come from and where we’re going — we’ll have the power and confidence to transform our society into the place we all wish for,” he says.
The circle of identity isn’t closed. It expands to include everyone willing to bet on potential over certainty. Somewhere in Sofia right now, a young founder is following that advice, building meaning from constraints. Somewhere else, an athlete will find support through technology his team is developing, turning disadvantage into edge.
Natanail’s story matters not because it’s unrepeatable, but because it is repeatable. Conscious choices, sustained over time and guided by an eternal‑value framework, generate the opportunities that once seemed out of reach.
Here is the paradox at its heart: by accepting constraint, he found freedom. By staying when he could have left, he discovered opportunities that would never have existed elsewhere. By betting on Bulgaria rather than chasing certainties abroad, he created something uniquely valuable — rooted at home and resonant far beyond it.
You can find Natanail on Linkedin
Learn more about GRVTY