We have a long history, me and natural disasters.

It’s only natural for a person born and raised in Oklahoma to fall asleep at night with one eye open, ear turned upward to catch any rustle of wind.

Too many times to count, the tornado sirens would start blaring and I’d be the first (and only) kid to run to our innermost closet, clutching my St. Francis statue and pulling at the gold cross necklace I’d been given in the third grade.

Everything in me told me to run, to get in the family’s 15-passenger van and gun it, to wheel the tricycle out and get going—anything but stay put, anything but burrow in a closet.

So when the evacuation orders inched nearer and the smoke only got thicker, every cell in my being was telling me to kiss Adam hurriedly on the cheek, wish him luck, and wave sayonara to Life As I Knew It Back Then™ in Los Angeles. It was fun while it lasted!

I did end up kissing him on the cheek, but with intention. Adam stayed behind since he already had a trip out of town planned. We joked about leaving Pepper to hold down the fort in our absence, armed with a cigar, a gun, and the garden hose to ward off the flames. You’ll get your chance to be a hero next time, Pep.

It’s now been five days since I left L.A., and the fires show no sign of slowing. With the Santa Ana winds expected to pick up again tomorrow and into Wednesday, the fire risk remains extremely high.

During these five days, I’ve visited the ocean at least once each day, counted all my blessings front to back and then over again, and pretended I’m in an alternate timeline where this is just another vacation and my time in L.A. was actually just temporary and if I lose everything, it’s okay, because I can pretend I never had it! Coping, and all that.

There is so much to say and I just don’t know how to say it yet. I’m not sure when I will. For now, I’m staying put, at least an hour and a half outside of L.A., until the sky clears and the fires back off my back porch.

What I know is that whenever (if ever?) this all clears up, I intend to love this city with all the grace I can muster. I feel like I still barely know this place I call home, but I’m beginning to see its heart.

I hope to speak to you next week with better news or at least no new news regarding the fires. Here’s to hoping. Sending love of all sorts.

we are all in a haze. there's a dense layer of smoke still hanging all around us, weightless yet pressing down relentlessly on our hearts and frazzled minds.

we are crying for our loved ones, for acquaintances, for strangers, for ourselves. those of us with past traumas recognize the tightening of our jaws, the thumping of our heartbeats, the way our nervous systems are at full attention all of the time, whether awake or asleep. we are so tired.

we lose the ability to sleep, or we can't stop sleeping. we eat everything, or we eat nothing. those who've lost homes cling to their families in awe of their survival. those of us who didn't, we look around and wonder how our possessions can at once seem so deeply valuable and utterly meaningless, all at once.

we don't know quite how the healing will start; we just have faith that it will.

— by @centeringdisability

❤️‍🩹 how you can help

The Ruiz family’s story is unfortunately just one of thousands. They have five young children and lost everything they own. You can donate to help them here.

Here is a master list of GoFundMe’s campaigns, organized by how close they are to reaching their goals. Mutual aid and community support are entirely essential for these families to secure housing, safety, and a sense of peace in the aftermath of this horrifying loss.

If you have the means to help, contributing to *any* one of these campaigns truly makes a difference—even enough for just one meal means the world to those who’ve lost it all. <3

🎧 currently playing

It should have been different, it could have been easy
But pride has a way of holding too firm to history
Then it burns like wildfire

🖼️ proof of life