You Don’t Need Permission to Build Something Better

Eric Topchik had no experience in the golf cart industry, and no promise that it would work when he decided to start Galaxy Golf Cars. What he did have was a fire that had been building for years—fueled by burnout, bullsh*t, and a deep belief that there had to be something better out there.

“I just got to a point where I thought—if this is what the next 10 years of my life looks like, I’m going to regret not trying to build something of my own,” he says.

Before golf carts, Eric spent more than a decade climbing the tech sales ladder. Mid-market wins. Enterprise promotions. President’s Club trips. All the milestones that look good on paper—but never really added up to fulfillment. “I did well financially, but I never felt like I had any real control,” Eric says. “Loyalty is dead in that world. You’re just a number.”

At first, the chaos was bearable. He sold insurance in the middle of the 2009 financial crisis, pitching long-term disability to Wall Street bankers who weren’t sure they’d even have jobs in a month. He wore his best $300 suit, slicked his hair back, and walked into Goldman Sachs like he belonged there. “Some of those guys told me flat out, ‘I make a million dollars a year and I still don’t feel secure,’” Eric remembers.

The irony wasn’t lost on him.

Over the years, he moved from insurance to print tech, then deeper into SaaS. He crushed quotas. Made good money. Partied at stock exchange IPOs. But every step up the ladder came with more red tape and less joy. Promotions turned into demotions. High-fiving execs turned into watching them scramble to save their own seats. “It became toxic,” Eric says. “Unless you’re one of the few making 800K a year with the perfect accounts, you’re just getting your soul sucked dry.”

But Eric kept showing up. He put in the work. He hit his number. And still, time after time, the same pattern played out: layoffs, restructures, broken promises. “It was never just one moment,” he says. “It was a long buildup. But eventually, I knew—I don’t want to retire and look back on a resume full of enterprise account executive titles. That can’t be the story I tell about my life.”

So when the chance came to open something entirely different—a golf cart dealership, of all things—Eric didn’t flinch. He saw a path to ownership, autonomy, and building something that actually mattered to him. “This was my escape hatch,” he says. “It wasn’t going to be easy, but at least I’d be building something real.”

And he’s gone all in.

Galaxy Golf Cars opened in March 2025. The showroom? 5,000 square feet, sitting on one of the busiest stretches of I-75 in Texas. The sign out front? A massive 18-foot banner shouting to 300,000 passing cars a day. The inventory? Carefully curated electric golf carts with better features, better design, and better value than the bloated legacy brands most people default to.

“I went deep,” Eric says. “I talked to every manufacturer, went to the PGA show, tested everything. The big American names? They’re overpriced and they don’t innovate. The fully Chinese ones? Cheap, but unreliable. I found the brands in the sweet spot—high quality, value-packed, and actually built for the way people use these things today.”

And the customers aren’t who you might think. Sure, some are retirees and second-home owners with golf memberships and gated communities. But Eric’s seeing something else too—a younger, broader audience who sees electric golf carts as the most logical, affordable form of local transportation available.

“This isn’t just a toy for the rich,” he says. “You’re talking about a vehicle that plugs into a wall, doesn’t use gas, costs less than a car payment, and gets you everywhere you need to go in your community. It’s practical. It’s fun. And it’s within reach.”

He’s building a team he’s proud of. People who actually want to be there. He’s locking in partnerships and territory rights that give him leverage for expansion. And he’s doing it all without waiting for permission.

Eric’s not pretending it’s easy. “There are challenges every single day,” he says. “But when I look around this showroom—when I see people test driving carts, when I hear a customer say, ‘This is the most fun thing I’ve bought in years’—I know I made the right decision.”

He’s quick to credit the people who shaped him. His mom, who runs a multi-million dollar luxury travel business entirely solo. His dad, a self-made insurance veteran who never once had a corporate job. His grandfather, a post-WWII entrepreneur who built quietly and carried himself with class.

“I was surrounded by entrepreneurs growing up—I just didn’t realize it,” Eric says. “It was normal in my family. Nobody worked for someone else.”

Now, it’s his turn.

Galaxy Golf Cars isn’t just a dealership. It’s a bet. A bet that there’s a better way to build a life. A bet that hard work, ownership, and integrity still matter. A bet that you don’t need to wait for the system to give you a win—you can build one yourself.

“I don’t need to be a billionaire,” Eric says. “I just want to build something I believe in. Something my family can see and say, ‘Eric did that.’ That’s enough.”

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