Chapter Eight

Stand Taller

One afternoon, I received a phone call from a friend who had been following the work I was doing at one of Southern California's premier RV resorts.

"Didi," he said, "there's an RV park in Ventura that's been devastated by a mudslide. I've heard what you've been accomplishing, and I think you should go and meet the owner. Maybe you'll have some ideas that could help."

Earlier that year, after months of dry, scorching weather, Southern California had been hit by days of relentless rain. Anyone who has lived in California knows how dangerous that combination can be. After long periods of drought, the hardened earth can no longer absorb the sudden downpour. Water rushes down the mountainsides, carrying with it rocks, trees, and tons of mud. Creeks become raging rivers, hillsides give way, and entire communities can be left buried beneath debris in a matter of hours.

One of those communities was an RV park in Ventura.

Curious, I agreed to visit.

I drove south to meet the owner and see the property for myself. Nothing could have prepared me for what I found.

As I pulled through the entrance, it was difficult to imagine that families had once gathered there to enjoy weekends together, children had ridden their bicycles through the park, and campers had spent evenings around campfires sharing stories beneath the stars.

Mud still scarred the property. Sections of fencing leaned where floodwaters had torn through. Old recreational vehicles sat abandoned. The landscaping had been destroyed. The buildings looked tired. And so did the people.

The owner greeted me warmly. We had actually met when my television crew stayed at the park while filming an episode of Travel with Didiayer. As we walked through the property together, he shared the devastating impact the mudslides had had on the business.

When we finished our tour, he stopped walking and looked at me and said. “Didi... What would it take for you to run this park and make it like the one your at now?"

For a moment, I simply looked back across the property. I saw more than damaged roads, broken fences, and neglected buildings.

I saw potential.

We sat together for nearly three hours talking about the resort, the challenges it faced, and what it might one day become.

Before I left, I told him there was only one answer I could give. "I need to talk with my family."

That evening I sat down with Christopher. He had known me since my third day in America and understood me better than anyone. Before I even finished explaining what had happened, he smiled. "I know that look," he said. "What are we saying yes to now?” I laughed because, truthfully, I wasn't entirely sure. "I think we're being asked to help."

After many conversations and much prayer, we accepted the opportunity. Looking back now, I thought I was accepting a position managing an RV park. I had no idea I was stepping into one of the greatest leadership classrooms of my life, and I became the COO.

When I officially arrived, I quickly realized the mudslide hadn't created all of the resort's problems. It had simply exposed them. The property certainly needed work, but the greatest challenge wasn't the landscaping or the damaged facilities.

It was the culture.

Some employees had completely checked out. Some had been stealing from the business. Others were using drugs while they were supposed to be working. Long-term residents had stopped paying for their sites because no one had been holding them accountable. Standards had slowly disappeared until behavior that never should have been acceptable had simply become normal. I knew immediately that if the culture didn't change, nothing else would.

The first decisions I made were some of the hardest. There were people who simply weren't willing to be part of the future we were trying to build. As difficult as it was, those employees had to leave. Leadership isn't simply about believing in people. It's also about protecting the people who are committed by refusing to tolerate behavior that continually undermines everyone else.

Once we had established a strong foundation, we began building a new team. I looked for people who genuinely enjoyed serving others, loved the outdoors, and wanted to be part of something they could be proud of.

Every morning we met before the day began. We talked about the guests arriving that day. We discussed challenges. We celebrated progress.

We reminded one another that every family who drove through our gates had chosen to spend their money and their time here, and it was our responsibility to make those memories special and to make them feel valued.

Little by little, something began to change. People started believing again. One of the first decisions I made confused almost everyone. I ordered uniforms for every member of the team.

Some questioned why we would spend money on uniforms when there were so many other things the resort needed. But I wasn't buying uniforms. I was restoring dignity.

The morning they arrived, I watched as our team put them on for the first time. It was one of the simplest changes we made. It was also one of the most powerful.

The same people who had quietly walked through the resort the week before now carried themselves differently. They stood taller. They smiled more. They greeted guests with confidence. They looked professional.

More importantly… They felt seen.

The uniforms didn't change who they were. They changed how they saw themselves.

As I spent time getting to know each member of our team, I learned about their families, their dreams, and the sacrifices they made every day. Many of them worked incredibly hard yet felt invisible. They had never been recognized for the value they brought to the organization.

I believed they deserved better. I also believed that if we wanted excellence, we had to demonstrate that excellence mattered.

So I fought for them. I sat the owner down and asked him to trust me. "We need to invest in our people.” He resisted at first, but gradually, wages increased. Responsibilities increased. People were recognized for great work. Leadership opportunities were created. Something beautiful happened. People stopped working for a paycheck. They started working with purpose.

One member of our team stepped into a leadership role and flourished. A couple of ladies surprised everyone by arriving early every Sunday morning to make complimentary pancakes for every guest staying at the resort.

As the months passed, the transformation became impossible to ignore. The grounds became beautiful. Guests returned. Families told their friends. Occupancy climbed. Revenue followed. Before long, the resort had become one of California's best RV destinations.

People often ask me what turned it around.

They expect me to talk about marketing strategies, renovations, or financial decisions. Those things certainly mattered. But they weren't where the transformation began. The transformation began with people. It began the day people started believing they mattered.

Leadership isn't about changing a place. It's about changing how people see themselves.

When people feel seen, they stand taller. When they feel heard, they contribute more. When they know they are valued, they begin taking ownership.

Everything else follows.

Looking back now, I realize we didn't just rebuild a resort.

We rebuilt confidence.

We restored dignity.

And in doing so, we discovered something I have carried with me ever since.

The greatest investment any leader can make is not in buildings, budgets, or marketing.

It is in people.

Because when people believe they matter...

They accomplish more than they ever imagined possible.