In 2012, I left a cushy job with a very clear picture in my head, I was going to build the next big hospitality event (The Hospitality Development Summit).

The excitement wasn’t small. It felt like stepping into the opening scene of a blockbuster. I could already see it: the success, the admiration, the late-night brainstorming sessions that would lead to million-dollar ideas, the kind of house that could finally be mine, and maybe even the fancy car that made heads turn. All the glamour. All the glory. Everything that makes a good movie montage.

I called up friends I respected, people I knew were some of the best in the business, and we got to work. And it worked. We launched our first project, and it was genuinely successful. There was a rush of energy and validation. I vaguely remember thinking, "This is it. We’re in."

OTO stick figure artwork for Lessons From a Business That Didn’t Last.
The plan that looked obvious then.

And then slowly, I began chasing shortcuts.

I started believing that one big project was all it would take, that magical gig that would rake in a ton of money and allow me to call it a day. Retire early. Maybe travel the world. I stopped selling. I assumed the team would do it. I was the founder after all, wasn’t I? Wasn’t I supposed to be the one thinking bigger thoughts while the others did the grind?

Turns out, not quite.

In less than two years, the business became unsustainable. We shut it down.

I got another job. A good one. But that itch to build something of my own didn’t go away. It lingered quietly. So I started to think, not just on the business itself, but on who I was in those moments, and the decisions I made.

And here’s what I learnt. Not in hindsight as a list of regrets, but as truths I carry now:

OTO stick figure artwork for Lessons From a Business That Didn’t Last.
What the collapse teaches after the rush.

1. If you can’t or won’t sell your own product, no one else will. It doesn’t matter what role you’ve given yourself, founder, CEO, visionary, whatever. If you’re not out there selling, listening, and adapting, you're not building anything sustainable. Selling isn’t just about revenue. It’s about connection, belief, and being in the room where things happen.

2. Staying on the frontlines teaches you way more than sitting behind spreadsheets. Some of the most important insights I’ve ever had came from conversations I wasn’t even supposed to be in. Being on the floor, in the chaos, in the moments where things are unclear, that’s where the good stuff is. That’s where growth lives.

3. Don’t outsource too early. It’s tempting to hand things off so you can “focus on strategy.” But often, you haven’t even understood what you’re outsourcing. And by the time you realise it’s going sideways, it's already too late. Learn it, do it yourself, build muscle, then hand it over.

4. Starting a business is a hands-on job. There’s no way around it. It’s messy and exhausting and deeply personal. And it’s supposed to be. There’s no backstage pass. You can’t just skip to the good part.

That failure in 2014 hurt, my ego, my confidence, my bank account. But it also gave me a far more honest view of what it actually takes to build something real. I wouldn’t say I’m glad it happened, but I am grateful for who I became because of it.