I’ve spent just over ten years working in startup finance, first as an early employee handling books and cash flow, and later advising founders as a fractional CFO. I’ve been in the room for seed raises that barely closed, budget reviews that came too late, and investor updates written at midnight because numbers didn’t line up earlier in the month. To me, startup finance essentials aren’t abstract principles—they’re the everyday habits that determine whether a company survives its own growth. When I joined my first startup, I assumed finance was mostly about fundraising and spreadsheets. I was wrong. The real work showed up between those moments, in how decisions were made when money was tight and clarity was missing. Cash Flow Is the First Reality Check The earliest lesson I learned came from a company that looked healthy on paper. Revenue was growing, customers were happy, and the team felt confident. Then payroll landed a few days before a delayed client payment, and suddenly confidence didn’t matter much. We had to scramble, not because the business was failing, but because we hadn’t respected timing. Since then, I’ve watched founders obsess over valuation while barely tracking burn rate week to week. In startups, cash flow isn’t a reporting detail—it’s a daily constraint. I’ve found that teams who understand this early make calmer, better decisions under pressure. Financial Models Are Only as Honest as the Assumptions I’ve built and reviewed dozens of financial models. The ones that caused trouble weren’t poorly formatted; they were overly optimistic. I remember a founder who projected rapid hiring based on “expected” deals that hadn’t progressed beyond early conversations. When those deals slipped, the model collapsed, and morale went with it. The most useful models I’ve worked with were conservative and flexible. They acknowledged uncertainty instead of hiding it. In my experience, investors don’t punish realism—they punish surprise. Spending Discipline Is a Cultural Issue One mistake I see repeatedly is treating spending controls as a temporary measure. Founders tell themselves they’ll tighten up later, once growth arrives. Later rarely behaves the way you expect. At one company I advised, marketing spend crept up quietly because no one felt responsible for saying no. The amounts weren’t outrageous individually, but together they changed the company’s risk profile. Once we made spending visible and tied it to clear outcomes, the conversation shifted from restriction to intention. Fundraising Doesn’t Fix Weak Financial Habits I’ve been involved in raises that gave founders a sense of relief that didn’t last. Fresh capital buys time, not discipline. I once worked with a team that closed a strong round and immediately expanded headcount without revisiting their financial assumptions. Six months later, they were back in emergency mode. Startup finance essentials don’t change after a raise. If anything, they become more important. More money increases the cost of mistakes. Mistakes Are Inevitable—Blind Spots Aren’t Every startup I’ve worked with made financial mistakes, including ones I advised closely. The difference between companies that recovered and those that didn’t came down to visibility. When founders understood their numbers well enough to spot problems early, they adjusted. When they avoided the numbers because they felt intimidating or uncomfortable, issues grew quietly. I don’t believe founders need to become accountants. But they do need to stay close to the financial story their company is telling, even when it’s inconvenient. How I Think About Startup Finance Now After a decade in this work, I see startup finance less as a function and more as a feedback system. It reflects how decisions are made, how risk is understood, and how honest a team is willing to be with itself. The startups that last aren’t always the ones with the most funding or the flashiest growth. They’re the ones that treat finance as a tool for clarity, not just a requirement to satisfy someone else. That mindset doesn’t show up in pitch decks. It shows up in everyday choices—and those choices add up faster than most founders expect.

I’ve been installing and repairing epoxy garage floors around Sutherland for a little over ten years now, mostly in homes where the garage is more than a place to park a car. A lot of my epoxy garage Sutherland work involves spaces that double as workshops, storage areas, or the unofficial entry point to the house. I’m a licensed flooring applicator by trade, but most of what I know came from real garages, not training rooms. One of the first garages I ever coated in this area taught me how deceptive concrete can be. The slab looked clean and dry, and the owners had kept the space immaculate. A few months later, patches of the epoxy started to lift. Moisture was migrating up through the slab, something common in older Sutherland homes but easy to miss if you don’t test properly. That job forced me to change how I assess garages. Since then, moisture testing has been a standard step, no matter how “safe” the floor appears. Garages take a different kind of abuse than any other room. Hot tyres roll in, oil drips get ignored for days, and heavy tools get dragged across the surface. I worked on one garage that belonged to a weekend mechanic who was tired of sweeping concrete dust every time he moved a toolbox. We installed a solid epoxy system with a mid-sheen finish. Months later, he mentioned that cleaning had gone from a chore to a quick hose and squeegee. That’s usually the point where people realise epoxy isn’t just cosmetic—it changes how the space functions. I’m careful about expectations, though. I’ve had to talk people out of choosing ultra-gloss finishes because they’d seen them online. In practice, those surfaces show tyre marks easily and can feel slick when wet. For most epoxy garage projects in Sutherland, I steer people toward finishes that hide wear and provide some grip. They don’t photograph as dramatically, but they hold up better under daily use. Rushing the process is another common mistake. I’ve seen DIY and budget installs where the floor was driven on before it had cured properly. Early in my career, I allowed a car back into a garage too soon because the owner needed the space. The coating survived, but tyre pickup marks became permanent. That experience made me strict about cure times, even if it means a bit of inconvenience up front. From my experience, epoxy garages work best when they’re treated as working surfaces, not showrooms. Cracks need to be addressed honestly, moisture needs to be managed, and the finish should suit how the garage is actually used. I’ve advised against epoxy in garages with severe structural movement or chronic water intrusion because no coating fixes those problems. After years of watching garage floors age, my view is simple: a good epoxy garage floor fades into the background. It handles heat, weight, and spills without demanding attention, which is exactly what most homeowners want from the space.

I’ve spent over ten years working around auto storage—managing facilities, consulting on storage programs, and dealing directly with owners after something went wrong. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that storing a car isn’t a neutral act. A vehicle doesn’t just pause while it sits. It changes, slowly and quietly, and those changes depend almost entirely on how and where it’s stored. When I first encountered auto storage professionally, I assumed most problems came from neglect or abuse. I was wrong. Some of the worst outcomes I’ve seen came from owners who cared deeply about their vehicles but misunderstood what storage actually requires. One early example sticks with me: a customer stored a lightly used sports car while relocating for work. Clean car, low mileage, indoor storage. Six months later, the engine started rough, the tires thumped at highway speed, and the interior smelled stale. Nothing dramatic had happened. The car had simply been left alone in the wrong conditions. Auto storage changes how systems age. Tires aren’t designed to sit under static load for long periods. Batteries don’t like inactivity, even when disconnected. Rubber seals dry out faster when air is stagnant. I’ve seen cars with pristine paint develop corrosion around trim because moisture never had a chance to move. These aren’t rare edge cases. They’re predictable outcomes of stillness. One situation last spring involved a customer who insisted on outdoor storage because the vehicle was “just a daily driver.” After a few months of sun exposure, the clear coat began to fade unevenly, and interior plastics became brittle. He was surprised by how quickly it happened. From my side, it wasn’t surprising at all. Sun and heat do their work whether a car is being driven or not, and storage without shade accelerates it. Another common misconception is that short-term storage doesn’t need preparation. I’ve had countless conversations that start with “it was only supposed to be a few weeks.” Those weeks turn into months more often than people expect. Fuel degrades. Fluids settle. I once watched a customer spend several thousand dollars chasing a fuel system issue that began simply because stabilizer was skipped during what was meant to be a brief pause. I’m opinionated about one thing in particular: auto storage without monitoring is a gamble. Cars benefit from being checked, repositioned, and noticed. I’ve worked with storage setups where vehicles were walked weekly, and small issues were caught early. I’ve also seen unattended storage where rodents damaged wiring, moisture crept into cabins, and no one knew until the owner returned. The difference wasn’t the building. It was attention. Not every vehicle needs the same level of care. A commuter car stored for a month has different needs than a collector vehicle sitting for a season. But every car needs an environment that matches the length of storage, not just the owner’s initial intention. That’s where most mistakes happen. People plan for the best-case timeline and store accordingly, then get stuck with the consequences when reality stretches out. I advise against thinking of auto storage as parking. Parking assumes movement tomorrow. Storage assumes stillness, and stillness demands compensation. Airflow, humidity control, occasional movement—these aren’t luxuries. They’re how you prevent the quiet deterioration that doesn’t show up until you’re back behind the wheel. The cars that leave storage in good condition don’t feel special or dramatic. They just work. No smells, no warning lights, no surprises. From years on the inside, I can tell you that outcome is intentional, even if it looks effortless. Auto storage done properly isn’t about freezing time. It’s about managing what time does while you’re gone.