Accept What You Can't Control
This week has been a study in that.
I don’t love writing here about something that isn’t resolved. Something that might change in an instant, and with it my thoughts and feelings. I tend to use Facebook for live updating on current events, and keep this to more past-tense writing. However, the events of this past week warrant a piece here, I think.
On Tuesday morning I woke up to dozens of notifications, because the Palisades fire had started, five miles from my home. It was 200 acres, and I could see the fires in the distance from my own house. As of my writing this, it’s now 23,700 acres, moving mostly west (somewhat north and south). My home is directly east of the fire, still miles away. As of now, our home is in a “warning” zone, not an evacuation zone, and the winds are currently favorable to us. We also have the 405 highway between us and the blaze, which is a useful firebreak.
I have friends in Palisades, Santa Monica, Malibu and Topanga who have all evacuated their homes - at least one of those homes is definitely gone. To the east is the Eaton fire, at 14,000 acres, and I have a dozen friends in Altadena and adjacent areas currently evacuated from there, many with no status report on if their home has survived.
I’ve lived in Los Angeles for nearly 15 years, and the last six days have been utterly devastating. There have been little vignettes of charm and my heart swells with gratitude - seeing people flooding kitchens and shelters with food and clothes and items of need. Videos of firefighters taking a break at In-N-Out Burger and as they walk in the whole building applauds and cheers for them. Incredible water drops. Stunning videos of heroism and hope and love and neighborly kindness.
There’s also been some political chatter on who and what to blame, there’s been negative comments on social media about “those rich people can afford to rebuild” even though these fires deeply effect every socioeconomic class in the city of Los Angeles. It’s heartbreaking and overwhelming in moments, to see the ways others may dehumanize people who are suffering and struggling.
Yet, I would say the vast majority of what I have seen online has been beautiful and inspiring. The truly heartbreaking stuff has mostly been the sharing of enormous loss, and the outpouring of compassion for it.
Every person has their own stories of what they’re going through.
The air has been grey for five days, and stepping outside all week, it smells and tastes of smoke. There's been ashes everywhere, floating in the wind, covering our cars and trashcans. The sky has been far too red, and hazy.
We are glued to our phones as we look for information to make sure that we and our loved ones are safe. My neck hurts, because I’m sitting like a gargoyle checking reports, my shoulders tensed terribly.
We flew to Las Vegas for a 12 hour trip on Friday. It was such a relief, and a torture.
Sitting here waiting for fire in a warning zone is one of the weirdest feelings.
Imagine you're packing your stuff up: the things that you don't want to lose, and you're putting everything in suitcases and bags. You need to pack your important documents - your passport, your birth certificate, your legal paperwork, your computer, your hard drives, maybe other electronics. You also need your clothing, things you love, things you’re comfortable in, extra socks and underwear. Toiletries.
You’ll also want to grab those random irreplaceable items like heirlooms or that letter from that dead relative or special pieces of jewelry or whatever those little trinkets you have that may not have monetary value but mean so much to you. You prepare your pet’s travel cages and a bag with food and bottles of water, in case you need to shove the pets in quickly and run. It needs to all be ready to go, and hopefully it’s not too many things because you may have mere minutes to throw it all in your car and get out.
But also… you're still at home. You're still waiting to hear if you need to leave.
So a day goes by, and you have to unpack your toiletries… and, oh, you really wanted to wear that shirt you already packed - so there you are, living out of a suitcase in your own house, exchanging the clothes you want for the clothes you'll set aside in emergency. Unpacking random items to use them, but repacking them each time, with decreasing levels of care as it starts to feel dumb.
You are in a state of limbo.
You don't want to get the call that says you have to leave, because then it's real, because then everything you chose to put in a bag may be all you'll have in just a few hours. You won’t be able to go back if you forgot something. You have to live with the choices you made in what you grabbed a few days ago.
You want the relief that says the danger's over. But it's been days. You're in a heightened state. You answer countless messages every day, sometimes every hour, asking if you're safe. You get tired of answering the same questions so you start copying and pasting your messages. Making Facebook posts to keep everyone informed.
You are so grateful they care, but exhausted by it all at the same time.
That's where I've been.
So when we decided to leave for Vegas, there was this incredible sense of relief. To not be waiting. We had gotten tickets to see Anyma at the Las Vegas Sphere on Friday, January 10th back in December. We had been so excited. I took all my evacuation stuff (except the pets - I left housemates with careful instructions about them) and packed it into the car. Drove my car to LAX and parked it in a well-protected garage. Got on a flight to Vegas with Judd.
It felt so good to leave. It felt so good to do something.
It was terrifying and exciting, like swimming out into a deeper part at the beach, where your feet don’t touch the bottom.
To not be in control of the situation at home was terrifying, to be doing something felt so good.
We landed in Las Vegas and within 1 hour, we got alerts on our phones telling us that our neighborhood had been moved into the next level of warning. That we needed to be on alert, because the fire was moving towards us and we may need to evacuate.
It rattled me.
In that moment I was grateful that I had pre-packed everything (LAX garage is far from any fires) but I was afraid for my birds. I was afraid for the things that I might suddenly realize I forgotten and that I would have had time to pack if I was there right then.
I suddenly felt guilt for bringing Judd with me away from the house, because I know that if we get evacuated, I know he would stay. He would hose down the house and fight off embers and do everything he could to fight the fire until he had lost the battle, and then he’d jump into his car and run. I respect his choice. I worried I deprived him of that choice.
I was eating dinner and everything I love to eat at my favorite restaurant tasted like nothing. The hunger was gone. The fear that maybe I'd made a mistake crept up.
I couldn’t stop checking my phone. I was getting bombarded with messages.
We finished dinner, and went to see Anyma play the Sphere.
It was stunning and beautiful, and as I stared up at this beautiful Sphere I realized my home might burn down in the next few hours and I'd be here.
I had to make a choice in this moment about my own mental state: I can't do anything. I'm powerless. I won't be home. If my house burns down it's going to be the literal worst time of my life.
But I'm already at the Sphere, and I can't change that, so if it's going to be the worst time of my life coming up, I might as well enjoy this moment. I might as well touch this last bit of happiness before everything "goes up in flames".
So I tried to breathe. I tried to remind myself that if I had skipped this show and everything doesn't burn down, I would be so mad at myself for just sitting at home missing out on life because I was afraid of one of the *worst* moments of it.
It was so hard to relax. I was so tense. I choked back tears for a moment realizing this was going to be one of two things:
This may be a wonderful memory before a relieving time, OR a wonderful memory before a heartbreakingly terrible time.
The only thing in my power was I could try to make sure that it is a wonderful memory instead of a shitty one. I could at least embrace the moment and make it wonderful, regardless of what happens after.
Our friend who was hosting us offered to drive us back to Los Angeles after the show, so we coordinated that during the opening act. That gave me some relief. Instead of flying home at 1pm, I'd be driving in at 6am.
Finally, I was able to relax a little bit. I had a little puff of cannabis, I had a drink, and I tried to relax my shoulders, and breathe, and let myself enjoy.
Enjoy I did.
It was obviously impossible not to think of what might be happening at home. I did periodically check my phone for the fire map and updates. But I was able to lose myself in music and visuals for nearly an hour at a time. I’d give myself 30 seconds to check the map and notifications from housemates, and then I’d jump back into the show.
I actually enjoyed myself. I had fun. I laughed. I snuggled my love and made silly videos.
It was easily one of the best concerts I've ever been to. Judd and I went to see Florence and the Machine in 2012 at the Hollywood Bowl, on LSD while starting to fall in love, and that will always have number one in my heart most likely, but the epic-ness of this show really takes the #2 spot on my list. This was the perfect show for the Sphere.
The music and the visuals and the technological feats of the experience really were so inspiring and aspirational and joyful… all the things I want from my art. I want my art to be aspirational and beautiful and creative and futuristic and cutting-edge and showing me a new world of possibilities, where we do extraordinary things.
It was fuel for my soul.
It felt so good.
We exited the show at 1am. Then we got in the car, and we drove 5 hours back to Los Angeles, picked up my car at LAX and drove home.
We had barely slept the last few nights because of fire nearby. We didn't sleep at all Friday night. We got home by 7am to assess the concerns and risk. To see the fire ourselves.
We got home and it was okay.
The house is still in the warning zone. But in multiple years in the past I’ve watched fire roll down the mountain across the way towards us. This wasn’t that.
The fire hasn’t gotten to the closest crest across the way. We couldn’t even see the flames from here, which means we’re not yet in danger.
It isn’t time to evacuate. This is not the moment that my home burns down.
Back in limbo.
I checked on everything around the house. I made sure everything was packed. I decided to get some sleep, at 9am. I set an alarm for every 2 hours so I could wake up and check to make sure everything was okay.
I slept in my clothing so that in an emergency, I wouldn't have to change.
Saturday was a day of exhaustion, with a lack of sleep and feeling emotionally worn out by this state of limbo.
I scrolled through feeds of pictures of the inferno that firefighters are enduring. I read through commentaries, other people's experiences, inspirational stories of community coming together, political blaming, kind words and internet trolls...
I’d sleep for a bit and then check my phone for a bit and then watch an episode of some show and then check my phone and then sleep again. Judd and I snuggled up to watch a movie together - in a bit of irony we opted for Twisters, to see a different natural disaster.
I have done everything I can do to prevent against the worst loss in a situation where I don't technically have power to prevent an enormous loss if it comes.
There are so many people for whom that moment of limbo is over. Where they did lose so much, some of them lost everything except their lives. My heart breaks for them.
I'm so lucky and so grateful.
The limbo is a privileged place to be. It's a place where there are a lot of possibilities, and the choice is out of my hands. I try to make the best of my limbo and be ready for the moment.
Saturday night / Sunday morning, at 4am, I decided I was going to go to bed, but I stepped outside first.
The wind was blowing. Headed south and slightly west.
For the first time in days, I could see stars in the sky.
When I breathed in, I didn't smell smoke.
In fact, I couldn't even see it in the distance.
For five days, even in the dark, the glow of the fire has been so red I can see the smoke all night.
Not this weekend. Both Saturday and Sunday night were cool and peaceful, and so was everything I could see. If I didn’t already know there was a fire nearby, I wouldn’t have had any indication.
There’s a feeling of guilt to being ok, as so many others are experiencing enormous loss. I sit with that and I let it go. I appreciate being able to be support and strength for others. I hope I don’t end up needing it here.
So this weekend I got to integrate the incredible experience I had Friday night, of the inspirational art and music and technological wonders... With the quiet embrace of what power I have here (to be present and be prepared) along with the resolution to accept what I do not have power over (the movement of the fire).
Sunday the winds stayed favorable for us. Our house is still in “warning zone”, but the zone directly west of us was downgraded from an evacuation zone back to a warning zone, which is encouraging.
I have no idea what tomorrow or this coming week will bring. The winds may shift, fortune may not favor us. So many people have lost their homes, or been displaced. I could easily be among them. It's been a hard week. For many others much more than me, but also in smaller ways, for me, for all of Los Angeles.
But even in this enormous stress… I got to have a good night.
My heart is grateful. My tears are a blend of joy and stress. My body is exhausted.
Every hour I try to stop whatever I’m doing to loosen up my body. My shoulders, neck and head all ache because that’s where I carry all the tension.
I cannot stop the fires. I cannot stop the tension. I cannot stop the fear. I cannot stop the danger. I cannot stop any of it.
I can only prepare myself as much as possible, and let myself have moments of joy, and live in gratitude for every bit of hope I see, and remind myself to loosen up, and to try to take care of myself to ensure I have the strength to deal with whatever comes next.
It’s all I can do. It’s all anyone can do.
The air is cool, the morning is still and peaceful.
The fires still rage miles away, destroying so much, and I hope they are quickly subdued.
I sit here in the quiet.
Somehow, even now…
I am hopeful, and filled with gratitude.
If you’d like to support relief efforts, there are so many incredible organizations on the ground here doing good work.
CA Fire Foundation: https://www.cafirefoundation.org/
LA County Fire Department Foundation: https://supportlafd.org/donate/
United Way of Greater LA: https://unitedwayla.org/ways-to-help/give/
More links are being updated here: Facebook Comments Here
Thank you - A