I first heard about Joel Osteen from my brother who had read a couple of his books and found them to be authentic and inspiring. I had listened to Joel Osteen on my Nook almost every night for about a year, until I gave the Nook to my daughter Maggie. Since I’m in Houston, where Joel and his wife conduct their main congregation, we decided to go.

I expected to feel about Lakewood as I’ve felt about other humongous churches–skeptical and a little angry for good measure. However, I found it to be very sincere. I guess you can’t be around 40,000 inspired people without feeling inspired yourself. I expected to feel as though the church was using religion to make money. There was indeed a bookstore, and an offering was taken. But in spite of all that and the fact that the church is in the stadium where a basketball team used to play, I felt the opposite of the bitterness I had expected to feel. While I was standing in line to buy my niece and myself souvenir cross necklaces and little fish-shaped mints, I suddenly felt as though I was in a place where they knew how to use business to build spirit. What?!

I realize I might just be wishing for this kind of religious turnabout, since I am tired of feeling ashamed of being a Christian, but I couldn’t help myself. The whole experience calmed me down. As I watched Joel meet with people–one by one, one after the other for more than an hour after the service–I couldn’t help but believe the gentleman really does have integrity and a great big heart, and a whole heck of  lot of patience.

My Lakewood experience also did something else for me, besides removing some of my skepticism. It made me believe a little more that dreaming big could actually get me somewhere. I guess that’s what I’m doing by having sold my house and buying the Jeep and taking off into the wild blue yonder. I don’t really know I’m going to get anywhere with this adventure. I’m not even sure where I’m heading in the end. But I know some things about my big dream. I want to help people express themselves effectively. I want to experience and propagate the arts. I want to love the world and sneeze out joy wherever I go–for me as well as for anyone else who is standing within contagious range.

Check with me in 3 1/2 years. I think that’s how long Joel and Victoria said they dreamed before their stadium church became a reality.

I don’t want to sound like I’m bragging, but I probably will anyway. While I’m doing that, I want to make a point: Although we all have to work where our bosses want us to, it is possible to increase productivity when we choose where to work. Today, I chose to work in a coffee shop. Then, I used my iPad GPS to find a nearby park in Sugarland, Texas. In spite of the sign that encouraged me not to feed the alligators, I decided to cross the bridge from the parking lot and take my chances.

Boy, am I glad I did. It is sunny and nearly 70 degrees. (Compare that with the freezing temps and foot of snow in my hometown, Lincoln, Nebraska!). There are people all around me enjoying the weather, walking dogs and babies, relaxing and connecting with one another…and BREATHING. I haven’t seen one alligator, but the anticipation of maybe seeing one gives me a certain attitude that I like: a feeling of adventure.

Not everyone thrives on the unknown as much as I do, but I believe everyone can benefit from changing the scenery on a regular basis. It shakes up the status quo. If you end up back at status quo, then it’s a pretty strong status quo and should be respected. But shaking things up just as often leads people to new ideas and an increase in focus and energy.

If you work for a company that doesn’t allow field trips to the park, you might find a little adventure within the rules. Could you work from the break room? Maybe commandeer an empty cube for the afternoon, or find a stand-up space on the manufacturing floor to get you close to the source of your income. Try a storage room for total quiet or the retail floor for white noise. If you have an outdoor space that is allowable territory, could you sit on a bench with your laptop, as I am doing today, and find inspiration for a project you’re stuck on? It might help you get it finished faster if you don’t allow the novelty of the setting to distract  you.

Even if you aren’t allowed to leave your desk, how could you create an adventure on the spot? Cover your desk surface with bright colored shelf paper (temporarily). Bring a unique drink and/or snacks one day. Listen to some music you don’t normally listen to. Use a crazy light-up pen. Take notes on something totally unexpected: the back of a photo, the inside of a deconstructed tissue box, pretty antique stationery. Sit sideways in your chair instead of frontways.

Or, trick yourself into thinking you could see an alligator any moment now.

My grand adventure during the month of January has been a logistic one, not a physical one. I’ve kept my head down and my nose in my computer, with a few phone calls here and there, for one purpose…to build my business.

It’s a dream I’ve had since I was a teenager. I knew someday I’d own a company that would produce high-quality writing that makes a difference somehow in the lives if people. It turns out part of my dream is also to help other writers.

I am building a business that matches writing jobs with the best possible writers. I have two writers working with me regularly now, and a wonderful list of others who are on tap for jobs I will go out and find to match their skills.

At the same time, I’m doing my own writing. I’m doing the jobs I am best suited for, and the jobs I really want to do. It has refreshed my love of writing and injected a new joy into my everyday work.

I know I will have challenges along the way, but I love what I’m doing, and I expect to love it more as time goes on, because my plan is to mold and shape my business in ways that are meaningful to me. For those who share some of the same values and dreams, I hope it will also become something they love, too.

As I sat there turned sideways in my seat so I could type on my laptop, rain began falling. Slowly and lightly at first, the drops gradually grew in size and frequency, along with the escalating speed and undulation of the wind. I felt a hint of butterflies in my stomach–a feeling I always have when storms come. I feel my pulse increase. I breathe a little quicker and shallower.

A hidden portion of my mind begins working, as it always does at times like this, on terrible possibilities: flooding, hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes or a shortage of food. The fear of running out of food, my family thinks, could be inborn into this generation as an echo of our starving Irish ancestors. The same echo probably explains why mom has to make a couple gallons of mashed potatoes on holidays.

I had such a sense of freedom sitting in my Jeep. I was the only person in the parking lot most of those three hours. I saw one family come for a walk on the dark beach, and then go. There was no one to bother me, no one to demand anything of me. It was just me and my computer and the needs of my clients.

The storm, the light and the free feeling made me think about my business and others. Many of the businesses in Panama City, some of the clerks told me, were very slow this time of year, and I believe it, because there were so few people anywhere. The streets sometimes seemed spookily deserted. But the down time, although it was forced, brought with it a welcome rest–a break from the chaos that would descend on the town with spring break.

In spite of the slow season, though, almost every lighted sign was turned on. When a customer showed up, a store would seem just as welcoming as if it was the height of the season. The merchandise in some stores was thin, but the items that were there were neat, clean and carefully displayed.

In Panama City and other places, people put up with the challenges of business because they love the work or the area they live and work in. They love the potential of being their own bosses. They love the thrill of the hunt and sense of freedom they get from taking an entrepreneurial risk and being in command of their own lives.

The storm I sat through in my Jeep could have grown into a disastrous gale, but it didn’t. It was just rain, even though the butterflies in my stomach tried to convince me disaster was impending. Business owners feel butterflies when they take risks, too. But they know when the chaos is destructive, and when it’s just a little rain.

Could we look at the U.S. economy and the world economy that way, too? We’ve been experiencing a storm, and it has given us a few butterflies, but that doesn’t mean total chaos is on the way. Maybe it’s just a little rain, and all we have to do is stay under cover and ride out the storm.

I’ve stayed in three different campgrounds the last three nights, and each time I took a little time to work, eat and nose around. Yes, for those of you who seem to love my red Jeep as much as me, I slept in the back all three nights. Tonight they made me pitch my tent, even though I won’t sleep in it, because there is a law in Panama City that you can’t sleep in your vehicle, even if it’s a Jeep. What?

I was originally going to stay in truck stops, hotel parking lots and Walmarts to save money, but the first and third are few and far between out here along the coast, and the hotel parking lots are just too conspicuous. So I’m biting the bullet and paying for campgrounds. I had the opportunity to stay in a quaint little inn at Port St. Joe, but I opted for a fancy dinner at the Seaside Coastal Inn instead–pecan encrusted mahi mahi with snap peas and sweet potato soufflé. It was really, really good, and the staff was amazing. I promised to say hello from Vicki the hostess, and Sandy “the GORGEOUS bartender.” My waiter–forgot to ask his name–engaged in a terrific conservative rant on politics that would make any Nebraskan proud.

When I told hm about my travels, he laughed and asked if I was having fun being a beach bum…then changed his mind and said I was more like a gypsy. I love it! I’ve always thought of myself as a gypsy for some reason, and when I was in New Orleans once a past life reader at a voodoo shop said I had been a gypsy in a previous life. (That would explain a lot.)

So…here are quick descriptions of the past three campgrounds I’ve stayed in, plus the previous two, to give you a good range.

1. Four nights ago: Homosassa River RV Park. This was a very well run, but obviously private, business. They were organized, extremely clean and friendly, but they enforced the rules. Once they saw I was willing to follow the rules, they were very accommodating. They apparently have a lot of people sneak in and out without paying. LOL…I slept in until ten or so, and J.R. figured I was planning to pay. He hollered at me from his golf cart to make sure everything was okay, and then felt bad he woke me up. How would he have known I stayed up until 2:30 working?

This campground had a recreation room where the guys playing pool told me how to find the list of open spots, an immaculate shower house that was cleaned every day, a pool and lots of other things to do. The campground looked almost full, and RVs were all crammed in next to each other, with little vegetation or screening between spots. Whether a good thing or a bad thing, this campground was in the middle of nowhere! You had to go quite a way off the main road to get to it, but there were lots of neat businesses to support the area. This is near where I picked up the smoked mullet and corn salad I mentioned in one of the other blog posts.

2. Three nights ago: St. George State Park on St. George Island. By far the best campground I’ve stayed in on this trip…maybe EVER! It was well laid out, so campers had quite a bit of vegetation screening them from each other. It was gorgeous. The island has protected dunes, so it’s not overused. There are boardwalks to get around and well-spaced access paths to the beach. The shower house was immaculate, too, and looked almost new. There were two huge parking lots to accommodate the crowds during more popular times of year.

The ranger was helpful and well-organized…very professional, but friendly. I asked if it was very busy, and he said it was surprisingly slow. He thought people may have decided to stay up north for Christmas since it was a mild winter, or the ones going further south might have decided not to stop this year. This is where I saw my first beach sunset. It took my breath away. Again, i was the only one on the beach to experience it. It’s as if God is going along with my plan to spend time alone on this trip.

3. Two nights ago: Indian Pass campground near Port St. Joe. Surrounded on three sides by water, some of it in the Gulf and some of it in St. Joseph Bay, this private campground is surrounded by paradise, and it was packed with campers and RVs. The tent spaces were all open, because no one wants to stay in tents this time of year. It wasn’t that cold: 40 degrees or so that night and in the lower 70s the next day.

The campground itself was charming, and little store was set up to look like a teepee. It was obviously off-season, because the swimming pool was looking a little rough, and the staff seemed relaxed and maybe relieved not to have the crowds of spring and summer? The shower house was in a converted trailer, and although a little rough around the edges was clean and well set up. This shower was arranged the best, with actual shower curtains partitioning off the shower stall and the dressing area for each shower.

The scenery off the tip of this peninsula was thrilling and peaceful. I met a great guy from Canada and his friend from New York. The Canadian asked if I had seen him gawking at me the previous night through the window of his RV. They had been waiting for friends who were supposed to have reserved the spot I pulled into. I had suspected I was in the wrong spot, but it had been so dark, I couldn’t see the numbers well. He apologized for gawking and said it was no big deal that I pulled into the wrong spot. People come and go there in a very relaxed way and no one minds.

3. Last night: St. Andrews State Park near Panama City. Again, the camping spots are well-laid-out, with delightful greenery screens between spots. I had a guy park right next to me later in the night, and I could barely see his car in the morning. I might have liked to see it better…I was curious about the kayak on the roof. Again, the shower house was clean and almost new. The ranger was friendly and professional.

I saw deer on the road twice, and as I walked up to the shower house late at night I could hear them clomping away just behind a bush near the sidewalk. Wow! One of the deer in my headlights earlier had looked like a five-point buck–only about three feet tall! It was cute!

4. Tonight: Camper’s Inn, Panama City. I didn’t get far today, because I slept in (of course…but I worked late last night…of course). Then I worked three hours in my camping spot, which was sheltered by funny-looking towering pine trees. Nothing like in the Rockies, but just as beautiful. It was chilly, but I still wore my flip flops most of the day. I is a tough Nebraska chick. I finally had to give up and put on my boots and camo jacket. I thought maybe it would make me blend in, and I might be lucky enough to have a deer walk into my clearing…but didn’t happen.

Finally, when I came up for air, I packed the truck, went over to take a shower, then visited one of the swimming beaches to see what the beach was like. When I pulled into the parking lot, it was full of cars. What? It was too cold to swim. I was wildly curious, and as I got closer I had my answer: surfing. (In wet suits.) I practically ran up the steps and over the dune to see. Another amazing site for this backwoods Nebraskan. (I’m really a city girl, but this is about as foreign to me as a skyscraper to a hillbilly.)

There were about 20 or 30 surfers catching waves, and I stood to watch for a long time. I also saw people digging for seashells in the side of a cliff made of nothing but sand. The waves had carved it from the beach apparently. In some places, it had to have been five or six feet down to the wet sand. Standing on the cliff of sand and looking down made it feel like I was floating, and I had visions of the sand avalanching down to the water with me on it. It was interesting to me that none of the surfers seemed to be female. There were two girls sitting on the beach looking miserable in the cold, watching their guys hanging with the waves.

So, five nights and five different campgrounds, three of them private and two state parks. What were the differences? Honestly, the government-run campgrounds were definitely cleaner, better organized and felt safer. There were gates at the entrance that you had to open with a code if you came back in after dark. If you didn’t make a reservation before sundown, you were out of luck for that night.

The private campgrounds were more relaxed, and the guests were friendlier. Attendants or owners were more willing to bend the rules. At Homosassa, they gave me an outrageously good rate, which was very helpful since I hadn’t planned on spending so much for camping. Don’t go there and expect to get an outrageously good rate for yourself (I’m special), but you will not be disappointed in the rate or the quality of the campground.

It makes me wonder about other businesses and similar government operations. Take gift shops, for example. Gift shops at national parks are really nice and usually very well run, because they follow a set of standards. It’s easy to relax and enjoy the safe, clean experience. On the other hand, private gift shops are often a little rougher around the edges…but more interesting.

Government businesses can seem like cookie-cutter enterprises, because they are. Private businesses can seem as though they are slipping on some standards, such as cleanliness, upkeep, organization and such, but they make up for it in delightful surprises, like dishes you’ve never tasted in chain restaurants or one-of-a-kind jewelry made by the owner’s daughter.

They are both good. I’ve loved every campground I’ve been in, but there are tricks to learn–and mistakes to avoid–in both.

I ate lunch at one of the concrete tables, enjoying the solid feel of everything around me. Even the water feels solid in a liquid kind of way. It feels like the earth is pulling me down closer to it here.

Then I put away the lunch things and took a blanket and a bottle of water with me on a walk down the beach. I’m glad you weren’t with me, because you’d think I was crazy. I was walking along saying, “Hello beach. I’m glad to see you.”

Not two minutes of walking went by when I saw something that both thrilled me and freaked me out–an actual, honest-to-God FIN sticking out of the water. Holy **ap!

Being from Nebraska, and not the slightest bit familiar with my fin classification, I stepped a few feet away from the edge of the surf, just in case. As I continued to watch, the fin wove its way slowly toward me, back and forth through the water like a dancer’s hand carving the air.

The fin seemed to know I was apprehensive. Do sharks swim all the way up onto the shore if they see a good dinner? it swam near me, then swam away, turning again to give me a thrill of butterflies in my stomach, then away again.

Suddenly, I recognized the arching path of the swimmer from documentary TV. It was a dolphin! How wonderful! I found myself wondering if this shoreline is full of dolphins, and whether I was making a fool of myself saying hello to a creature that couldn’t have possibly heard me. But it didn’t really matter. I was the only one on the beach, except a couple of people at least a quarter mile away.

Then, the most amazing thing happened. The dolphin swam at breakneck speed directly toward shore. It wiggled its way closer, splashing the deep water and doing a U-turn at the last second before hitting shore as if it was saluting me, then zipped out to sea again. It took my breath away and put tears in my eyes. Call me goofy. I couldn’t help it. You have to give me a break. I’m just a poor Nebraskan who doesn’t get to see the ocean every day.

I walked along the shore some more, picking up shells to send to my parents, and it happened again! I couldn’t believe it. I just stood there in awe, thanking the dolphin for making my welcome to the beach as special as I could have imagined. I watched as the dolphin swam away at a speed fast enough to create a smooth, liquidy wake. This time, I couldn’t see the fin–just the sliver rolling water.

I spent another half hour on the beach, lying calmly on my blanket and breathing deeper and clearer than I have for ages, soaking up the sun and loving the slow breeze on my skin. The whole experience was like a big feathery sigh.

What does this have to do with marketing? Well, nothing really. But after I focused enough to look up and notice a ten-thousand-foot view of my surroundings, I realized it was Saturday and there were only three people on this beach. Why?

It could be because there are better beaches not that far away. This one isn’t suitable for swimming…the beach drops off within three feet of the edge of the surf. I could see some kind of fish nipping the surface of the water all along (another thrill).

It could be because there are a lot of flies, due to the large amount of seaweed. Or maybe it’s not a safe place to be, and I just don’t know it. I’m sitting in my car as I write this, ready to slam the door shut if I see any iffy characters.

Maybe it’s because not that many people know about this beach. Would you even want to market it? Probably not. It’s a public area, and there isn’t any money to be made without lots of development. But then the dolphins would probably not stick around.

I’m just pinching myself and counting my blessings I somehow landed here for my official Gulf coast welcome.

So I headed for Crystal River from Tampa via Highway 98. There was a long stretch of solid businesses, then I broke out of civilization and into what I am not sure is proper to call swampland. Actually, the land was a lot more solid than I had pictured. On the map, it looked as though I was headed for really watery flats that couldn’t possibly support human enterprise.

I dove off of Highway 98 and into Homosassa Springs, just south of Crystal River, and I discovered a really impressive community of businesses, surrounded by a really interesting community of people.

There were several roadside restaurants all lit up for Christmas. Like everything else Christmasy in this balmy state, it seemed so out of place I was surprised to remember it’s Christmastime. I stopped at a roadside BBQ hut, and thought I had caught them after hours, until a woman in a blue apron came walking quickly down the hill and across the small parking lot from the house next door. I ordered a bit of smoked mullet and a corn salad. Wow. It was so good, and so inexpensive, I almost thought about going back for more to get me cheaply through the next couple of days.

Next, I stopped at a complex of inviting, colorful buildings as far as I could possibly drive before dropping into the river. I wanted to ask directions to the nearest campground for me and my Jeep. In addition to a two-story bar and restaurant mini-mallish kind of arrangement where someone was belting out Margaritaville, there were several buildings that looked like rental cottages, although I’m pretty sure some were permanent residences right in the middle of everything. One building was easily identifiable as a motel. There, they gave me directions to the nearest RV park, where I pulled in after hours, hung out watching Netflix and working in my 3′ x 4′ living room (the front seat) until it was time to slip back to my bunk and snooze.

RV parks are one of the most prevalent businesses in the area due to the warm weather tourism and snowbird population (retired folks who fly south or the winter). This morning, as I got further from the city and deeper into the forest, I discovered a backwoods kind of community where they talk with hillbilly accents and treated me with the utmost hospitality. I mean “hillbilly” in the best way and with some affection, since some of my relatives are bonafide hillbillies from The Ozarks.

At the Chiefland garage where I stopped for an oil change, a young gentleman 80 years of age was telling a friend he had sold about 50 of his guns, and that left about 50, and he didn’t know what he was going to do with them now. I learned from the owner’s wife that the deer in Florida are smaller than in Nebraska. I saw the family’s mudding trucks up on a big trailer. The tires were the size of picnic tables.

I looked at an old travel trailer (just in case it might work behind the Jeep) that had previously been used in a hunting camp. At least three people came through wearing camo shirts or jackets, and I finally felt comfortable breaking out my camo hoody. I had covered it up with another coat to hide it in Sarasota, so they didn’t know I am a hillbilly.

The interesting thing about rural Florida is that it all seems to run like a top, much more professionally and smoothly than I might have imagined. Even with lots of well-worn buildings, you get the impression the towns are clean, well organized, and buzzing with commerce of all kinds, from antique shops, fishing guides and charming local taverns to chain restaurants, insurance offices and dollar stores. There are a lot of dollar stores–maybe to serve the lower-income population?

Leslie at the garage had provided well for her children, who would be leaving home in the next few years. She had gone back to school, and will have her nursing degree by the time the kids have moved on. She was friendly and I felt genuinely interested in talking with me, just like everyone else I met in town.

Maybe the townspeople know they have to be friendly and care about their customers to be as successful as they are at business. Or maybe they are so successful at business because they really care to be friendly.

Something about that surprised me. I guess I always knew different geographic areas have different market makeups, but I have never thought what that really means in terms of day-to-day operation and how it compares with the area I know well (urban Nebraska).

If there are more grandparents here (many who have come from other places after retirement), that means you have a need for different products than places with a lot of kids and few grandparents. I know it seems obvious, but it’s interesting to see it in action in the lives of the few people I know here.

Bonnie’s daughter works at an optician’s office, but it’s a very high-end office–to serve the wealthy clientele who can afford to retire here. She has found it’s difficult for someone her age to make friends and it’s difficult to find good jobs. When she moved here with her mom from Wisconsin, she didn’t know she wouldn’t like those parts of living here. Now she seems very settled, and she’s made a great life here. Her daughter, I understand, seems to always know people wherever she goes.

Marketing is different here. People have more money overall–especially in Sarasota. Many are in a leisure stage of their lives, or close to it. There is a relaxed aura about them and their needs. But they can be demanding.

That means products and services are geared toward leisure, affluence and extreme customer service.

On the other hand, wherever you have affluent people, you also have lower income people to serve them. So, you also see marketing to those consumers. That’s true of anywhere. Maybe the real difference here is the gap between the two classes…to be very general.

The result for me is that I can see a real need for products, services and messages that fit this crowd in Florida–for very good reasons. I’ve always had a sort of cynicism about marketing, believing there was something fake about it. (My dirty little secret.) But this helps me see there are real needs being filled by those who sell things anywhere in the world.