I sat in the parking lot at the Panama City Beach for three hours. I worked part of the time with my computer sitting on top of a folded up hoodie between the bucket seats of my Jeep, and I just sat part of the time looking curiously out at the waves, barely believing I was there. The rolling waves were illuminated by the parking lot lights and the neon and backlit signs of businesses on the other side of the Emerald Coast Highway. The only reason I could see the waves in the black of night was because it was winter, and they were bigger than in summer, with thick frothy edges that reflected the light efficiently.
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.
