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When this post goes up on January 22nd, it’ll mark two weeks since we lost our house and everything in it in the Eaton Fire. We think the house went up in flames some time around 8:30 AM, and with it, any semblance of a normal life that we’d have for at least the next few years. It happens fast.
By coincidence, it will also mark our return to Pasadena after fleeing up the central coast. We’ve been in constant communication with our friends and neighbors, but for various reasons – mostly that we had nowhere to go – we stayed here. It’s beautiful, we’ve seen the ocean every day, the people are nice, and the air is clear. But it’s time to go home, or at least to what we’re deciding home is going to be.
So things are in a period of transition, during a larger period of transition. It’s a good time to take stock of everything that’s happened since the fire – both the good (spending time with family, getting to talk to Anderson Cooper) and the bad (the whole “we lost our house and everything in it” thing).
Taking inventory is one of the things you have to do during a disaster – one of the many things clogging up our grand to-do list. For this post, I want to take a different kind of inventory. Not of the stuff that burned, though we will have to do that. But of the things I’ve learned in the last two weeks. The hard-won, mostly unwanted lessons that come with a communal and personal tragedy like this. I detest the idea that “everything happens for a reason,” but I do believe that wisdom can be gleaned from adversity – and boy has this been some adversity.
We are capable of bearing the unbearable – this has been the hardest two weeks of my life. Harder than my mom dying and getting COVID in the same span of time. A dozen times during this fortnight I’ve felt like I was about to break, close to the edge of madness, wanting to just crawl in a hole, or utterly dreading just getting out of bed. But I didn’t break, I didn’t fall off the edge, I didn’t crawl in a hole, and I eventually got out of bed. This is absolutely terrible and I hate it, but I’m here, we’re getting through it, the lists are getting whittled down, and we’re taking baby steps toward a new home. Two weeks ago I never would have believed I could do this. I’m doing it.
The unthinkable can happen to anyone, even you – I never believed we were in a real danger zone for fire. Nobody in our neighborhood did. Then it happened, and within a day, we were scattered. Those people on the news scrambling for their lives, cramming their meager possessions in their cars, literally begging strangers for help, or left destitute and destroyed might not be in faraway countries or cities one day. They might be your friends, your neighbors, or you. Have mercy and grace for those left crushed under the wheels of climate change and disaster capitalism, because any of us could be one of them.
The good people outnumber the bad – I can count on one hand how many people have mocked my misfortune or turned their nose up at us. And I will never be able to count the folks who reached out, donated in some way, lent a hand, or asked what we needed. The same goes for every LA fire survivor. The world cares, and while “lol nothing matters” style nihilism might score points on Twitter, it’s not real life. People have been extraordinarily kind. Strangers have given us money and opened their homes, companies I have never heard of are giving away massive quantities of goods to the people of Altadena, and the outreach and concern for the plight of our town has been global. Good people are everywhere, and being a good person is still important.
People will want to hear your story, but tell it on your terms – I’ve been extremely vocal about what happened to us, and I will continue to be. People need to be reminded this happened, that it’s real, and that they can’t just look away. I’ve spoken on cable news and radio, and to strangers in my hotel lobby. But other people might not be ready to tell their story, particularly children, who are struggling horrifically under the weight of the loss and trauma. Everyone who went through this gets to choose how and when they do it, or if they do it at all. It’s helped me tremendously, but that’s just me. Don’t expect lurid details and entertainment on demand from survivors simply because you wish it.
Someone else winning is not a loss for you – I’m thrilled any time I hear of a house in Altadena that made it. Many did, though some might not be livable. I don’t feel any jealousy or feeling like I got screwed by their survival. We’re all stronger when our community thrives, and the more people who weren’t burned out is fewer people who have to start over. Their wins are our wins. This isn’t The Apprentice.
Take a few minutes to figure out what you’d grab in a disaster – We took a lot of irreplicable stuff, but missed some things that can’t be replaced, at least not easily. It never occurred to us to make a list of what we’d grab if an evacuation order came down. It doesn’t have to be a big deal, just a discussion you have with your family. What matters, how accessible is it. The stories I’m hearing of the priceless items people left as opposed to the useless crap they took are wild. Just take a second and think about it. Hopefully, you’ll never need to think about it again.
That new spot you want to check out? Check it out now – Altadena was becoming a hub of small businesses and shops, many of which had only opened in the last few months. And many of them are already gone, before we had a chance to get there. There was no urgency, no reason to go now as opposed to a more convenient time. Life is uncertain, and the place you’ve been meaning to go to might not be there when you get around to going to it. Don’t wait.
If a customer calls to cancel a service because they lost their house, don’t tell them to “have a great rest of your day” – Come on, man. Read the room.
Disaster vultures will smell blood and pounce – I’ve been inundated with spam calls about contractors in my area inspecting homes – joke’s on them, since I don’t have one. I’ve heard horror stories about FEMA fraud. Law firms with no experience in disaster litigation are holding meetings with free food and hotel rooms. Cleaning services are jacking up prices and massively overselling. And real estate developers are already pushing out low-ball offers to traumatized residents. The sharks are out. Some are just taking advantage of the situation, others are straight up con artists. Protect yourself and your community, share information, stay skeptical, and don’t rush into anything you can’t undo.
There’s nothing a determined community can’t do – Sociologists have lamented the loss of Americans feeling a sense of community. While many American cities become more siloed and walled off, and the bonds of friendship and workplace camaraderie fall away, we’re experiencing the opposite. We’re already rebuilding. We are meeting and planning on how to keep the vultures and speculators out, keep our diversity, and restore our cultural heritage. Nobody is giving up, we’re banding together. You can band together with your neighbors too, well before a tragedy like this forces you to. People used to look out for the people on their block and in their apartment building. We can do that again.
That’s it from the Central Coast. The next update will come from Pasadena, where these hard-won lessons will be put to the test.
Mike Rothschild 