The remarkable businesses, the ones that matter, don't begin with technology.
They begin with seeing.
In 2016, while standing in a crowded hall at Google I/O, surrounded by developers chasing the next shiny API, I saw something different. I saw my clients – small business owners from a generation that didn't grow up with smartphones – struggling with a fundamental disconnect between the data they needed and the interfaces built to deliver it.
These weren't just clients. They were people who trusted me enough to build their digital front doors to the world. People who would call me asking, "How many visitors came to my site?" when the answer sat buried inside dashboards they found unintuitive and intimidating.
What I realized in that moment wasn't that we needed better dashboards. It was that the entire model was backward.
For years, I had been doing what most digital consultants do – building websites, managing ads, and sending monthly reports filled with metrics that looked impressive but didn't answer the fundamental questions keeping my clients up at night:
- "Is this digital marketing thing actually working?"
- "Am I throwing money away?"
- "How do I know if I should spend more or less next month?"
The dirty secret of our industry is that we've created complexity where simplicity was needed. We've built interfaces that serve our workflows rather than our clients' mental models.
When Google announced their speech-to-text API, something clicked. The same technology that was powering their home devices could potentially bridge this gap. Not with more dashboards or reports, but with conversation – the oldest and most natural interface humans have ever used.
I could have continued sending those monthly reports. I could have educated my clients to use the existing tools. I could have hired account managers to answer their calls.
The easy path was clear.
Instead, I chose to eat glass.
For the next two years, I immersed myself in JavaScript, TypeScript, Firebase's real-time database architecture, and Google's fledgling conversational AI platforms. I built an entire virtual assistant system that could not only answer basic questions about website metrics but could perform complex ROI calculations by connecting disparate data points across advertising platforms, call tracking systems, and client databases.
This wasn't about building the next killer app. This was about serving the specific needs of people who trusted me with their digital presence – needs that the tech giants with their one-size-fits-all solutions weren't addressing.
Kisscalls wasn't just software. It became something far more meaningful – a promise fulfilled to small business owners who had been left behind by the relentless march of technology.
When a restaurant owner could simply ask, "What was my cost per call this week?" and get not just the answer but the context – "Your cost was $4.75 per call, which is 15% lower than last month and well within your target range" – I witnessed something profound. The relief. The comprehension. The ability to make decisions with confidence.
These weren't just metrics. They were lifelines to business owners who needed to know if their investments were paying off, explained in language that matched how they already thought about their businesses.
Most startup stories focus on growth, funding rounds, or exits. Mine ends differently.
After I moved on to other ventures, Kisscalls continued serving its initial customers flawlessly for over seven years with zero human intervention. No maintenance. No updates. No hand-holding.
The system wasn't just reliable – it was resilient. It wasn't just automated – it was autonomous.
And when it finally went offline because Google discontinued Python 2 support in App Engine on December 31st, the calls I received weren't angry – they were bereft. People had come to rely on this service not because of clever marketing or network effects, but because it genuinely solved a problem that mattered to them.
We live in a world obsessed with scale. With unicorns. With disruption.
But there's profound worth in building something small that serves a specific group of people so well that they miss it when it's gone.
Kisscalls never became a household name. It never attracted venture capital. It never had a fancy office or a large team.
What it did have was purpose – to meet people where they were, to speak their language, and to give them exactly what they needed without forcing them to adapt to yet another tech-centered paradigm.
In a world pushing us toward artificial connection, Kisscalls used artificial intelligence to create genuine understanding.
Maybe that's the real innovation we need more of.
The greatest satisfaction in business isn't building something that scales exponentially. It's building something that matters deeply to the people it serves. Kisscalls taught me that a business focusing intently on solving real problems for real people creates something rare and valuable – not just utility, but meaning.