How a Poker App Convinced Me I Could Code (Spoiler: I Couldn't)
How a Poker App Convinced Me I Could Code (Spoiler: I Couldn't)
By David, Founder & CEO of Kenektic
November 3, 2025
I need to tell you about my friend Matt.
Matt and I go way back. We did Indian Guides together when we were kids—and yes, I know how that sounds now, but it was a different era and we were seven. We lost touch after that, the way kids do. Then high school happened, and Matt became one of my three best friends. If you read my first post, you know that three was my number. Three best friends. No wider circle. That was my whole social world.
After high school, we drifted apart again. For too long. Years of the kind of silence that happens when you're bad at maintaining friendships—which, as I've already admitted, is one of my defining traits.
But we found our way back to each other. And in September 2025, Matt showed me something that changed the entire trajectory of my life.
He showed me a poker app he'd built.
This Was Not a Simple App
Let me be clear about something: Matt didn't show me some toy. This wasn't a calculator with a card theme. This was a sophisticated poker application with real game theory built in—positional strategy, decision trees, the kind of complex logic that I would have assumed required a team of engineers and months of development.
Matt built it himself. By talking to his computer.
He sent it to me first, and I remember opening it and just staring at it. Turning it over in my head. This was Matt. Matt who I grew up with. Matt who was smart, sure—always smart—but in my mind he'd suddenly become an MIT engineering graduate overnight. How did he do this?
I told him he had to show me. I'd buy lunch. I needed to understand.
Blue Dog Tavern
We met at the Blue Dog Tavern. Sat outside. And before we even got to a computer, Matt started explaining what I was about to see.
He walked me through the whole concept of vibe coding—the idea that you could essentially have a conversation with AI and it would write code for you. You describe what you want. It builds it. You refine it. It adjusts. Back and forth, like working with a developer who never gets tired, never judges your questions, and never makes you feel stupid for not knowing what a function is.
I was already obsessed with AI at this point. I'd been listening to the Big Technology podcast on the elliptical every morning—if you haven't listened to it, Alex Kantrowitz is amazing and gets some of the best guests in the industry. I thought I had a decent handle on where the technology was.
I didn't. Not even close.
What Matt showed me was generations beyond what I'd imagined. He took one of my ideas—I honestly can't even remember what it was now—and built a working app in fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes. While I watched.
Holy Shit
That's what went through my head. Not "interesting" or "impressive" or "I should look into this."
Holy shit.
This is real. This is right now. This isn't some future technology that might be useful someday. This is a person I grew up with, who is not a professional developer, building sophisticated software by having a conversation with AI.
And if Matt could do it...
That thought didn't even finish forming before the next one arrived: I have to try this.
I Went Home and Started Immediately
I didn't sleep on it. I didn't make a pros and cons list. I didn't "do more research." I went home and started.
And I was terrible at it.
The first few days were brutal. I'd get confused easily. The terminology was foreign. The logic didn't click the way it seemed to click for Matt. I'd get something working and then break it. I'd ask the AI a question and not understand the answer. I'd stare at error messages that might as well have been written in Mandarin.
There were moments—real, honest moments—where I thought: maybe Matt's just better at this. Maybe this is another thing I'm not wired for. Maybe I'm a finance guy who watched a cool demo and got carried away.
I'm a Gen X founder who spent his career building complex financial models to structure mortgage-backed securities (if your eyes just glazed over so did my mom's every time she asked what I do). I survived the 2008 financial crisis. I know how to read a balance sheet, negotiate a deal, manage a team. But writing code? The last time I'd been anywhere near programming was decades ago, and even then I was barely scratching the surface.
Who was I to think I could build a technology platform?
I Didn't Tell Anyone
My wife and kids noticed I was at my computer every day. All day. Something had clearly shifted. But I didn't explain much, because how could I?
"Hey, I'm going to teach myself to code using AI and build an app that solves loneliness."
Even typing that now, I can hear how it sounds.
But there was another reason I kept it quiet: what if I failed? What if I spent weeks on this and couldn't get past the basics? What if the gap between Matt's demo and my ability to actually build something was uncrossable?
It's one thing to fail privately. It's another thing to fail after telling everyone what you're going to do.
So I just kept going. Quietly. Every day. Confused more often than not. Frustrated regularly. But going.
Why I Kept Going
Here's the thing that wouldn't let me quit, even on the worst days:
I knew what I wanted to build. I'd known since visiting my aunt. I'd known since reading the Surgeon General's report. I'd known since sitting against that wall in seventh grade, even if I didn't have the words for it yet.
The problem was real. The mission was clear. And for the first time in my life, the technology existed to let someone like me—someone who is decidedly not an engineer—actually try to build the solution.
Matt didn't just show me a poker app that day. He showed me that the door was open. That you didn't need a computer science degree or a founding technical team or years of experience. You needed an idea, the willingness to struggle through the learning curve, and AI that could meet you where you are.
I had the idea. I had more willingness to struggle than most people—decades of loneliness will do that to your motivation. And the AI was right there, waiting.
The question wasn't whether I was qualified. The question was whether I was willing to be bad at something long enough to get good at it.
The Door Matt Opened
I think about this a lot: what if Matt hadn't shown me that poker app?
I'd still have the idea. I'd still know the problem needed solving. I'd still have my aunt's story and my own story and the Surgeon General's report and 150 million Americans who need better tools for connection.
But I'd be looking for a technical co-founder. Writing pitch decks hoping someone else would build my vision. Waiting. And if there's one thing visiting my aunt taught me, it's that waiting is a luxury not everyone can afford.
Instead, Matt opened a door I didn't know existed. And I walked through it the same day.
That's what friends do, by the way. They don't just keep you company. They change what you think is possible. Matt didn't teach me to code that afternoon—that would take months of struggle I haven't told you about yet. But he taught me something more important: that the barrier between having an idea and building it had collapsed, and I was the only one who didn't know it yet.
What Comes Next
In my next post, I'll tell you about what happened when I actually sat down to learn. About the Apple IIc computer I bought with my Bar Mitzvah money and the glorified Pong game that represented my entire coding history. About the little apps, the 12-hour days, and the moment in October 2025 when I stopped playing around and started building something real.
But this post is about the moment before all of that. The moment when a friend sat across from me at an outdoor table, showed me something I didn't think was possible, and changed the direction of my life.
If you take one thing from this story, let it be this: the most important moments rarely look important when they're happening. It was just lunch. Just a friend showing me something cool. Just a poker app.
But it was the day everything started.
What's your "poker app" moment? Has someone ever showed you something that completely changed what you thought was possible? A conversation, a demo, a single sentence that opened a door you didn't know existed? I'd love to hear about it.
Kenektic is in development and will launch soon. If you want to be notified when we're ready, or if you want to share your story with me directly, reach out at hello@kenektic.com.
Coming Next: "An Apple IIc, a Bar Mitzvah, and the Month I Learned to Code" — The learning curve nobody warns you about.