There’s No Place Like It On Earth
a surfer taking off in Santa Monica under a blackened sky on the first day of the fires, Richard vogel/AP
Every day, once a day, I think it’s incredibly important to take a moment to tell yourself, “You know what? This is actually, really, quite nice.”
It doesn’t have to be anything major. Don't overthink it, don't plan it, just appreciate it. It’s good mental practice. The way the early-afternoon Spring sun feels when it's hitting your skin in the carpark while you’re changing after a long surf. Walking slowly to your favorite, coffee shop to get a cappuccino and a croissant on a Sunday morning with someone you love. Running into and legitimately catching up with an old friend, taking a midday catnap on the couch while basketball plays softly from the TV a few feet away, or reading a book somewhere outside.
It’s nice to have been born, raised, and live in Southern California because it’s easy to find those simple yet beautiful, daily instances here. My family, friends, and all the other people who I share these moments with are here. The sunset always illuminates the Malibu Pier perfectly when you’re catching a wave from the top of First Point. There are galleries, opportunities, amazing cuisine, and everything else that makes ‘here’ so special. Is it all perfect? Absolutely not. I’m sure that anyone from California would agree with me when I say that this is the edge of the American frontier, and it has all of the absurdity and nonsense that would come with that sort of title.
As I’m writing this right now, Los Angeles is burning.
The Palisades, Eaton, Kenneth, Hurst, and other fires have killed at least twenty-four people and eradicated more than thirty-eight thousand acres of land. Around one hundred and fifty thousand people have evacuated their homes and a large majority of them will have to come back to nothing. There are images and videos of families running out of their gridlocked cars to outrun flames, entire neighborhoods leveled, and desolate Dante Alighieri-esque views from airplane windows of what would normally be the dazzling sea of floating lights that is Los Angeles.
While this seems like the bit where I say that despite the destruction, fear, and sadness, I can still find those little moments of appreciation, I can’t say that’s the case.
The fires are minimally contained. Every day, I learn about a friend or friend-of-a-friend who lost their home. Some people see this as an opportunity to push their political and personal convictions without offering any real help, and there is plenty of other absolute public tone-deafness, and the winds are still blowing.
Now, I’m lucky to have evacuated to San Diego. I’m lucky to know that my house should be safe and okay too. And I’m lucky to have lots of friends who were able to get out and I was able to see and talk to them this weekend and make sure they’re safe.
I’m heartbroken for my Los Angeles home. But I couldn’t have enough gratitude for the first responders and all of the people who came together when we needed each other the most. This city is a community, and it’s incredible how many of us have come out to help and focus on what matters most, because that is really, quite nice.
The sun still came up over the San Gabriel Mountains this morning, illuminating the deeply cerulean Pacific with it. Despite the devastation, there’s beauty, opportunity, and hope out there still. We’re here for one another and supporting each other. Whole neighborhoods aren’t standing anymore and livelihoods are lost, but we’re going to get through it.
This city will return to its former, stunning self, but it does need help. If you’re here, you can find out where to volunteer or lend a direct hand near you. You can also give to the LAFD directly. Or, you can use social media for the one thing it’s useful for and have a scroll through your friends to see if they need any help.