The Stories That Bring Me to Tears (And the Ones That Lift Me Up)

Since the losing our home in the Palisades fire, I’ve been paying close attention to the experience—navigating uncertainty, finding comfort in community, and recognizing that loss and possibility can exist at the same time.

An Adventure

We've often imagined ourselves someday traveling—spending a few months in one place, then moving on to another. If there’s ever going to be an opportunity to do that, this seems like it.

We don’t have any possessions to put into storage. We have to pay rent to live regardless of where that is. And since my husband and I work from home, in theory, we can work from anywhere. (Although when I suggested Portugal, our son quickly pointed out that the time zone difference would make keeping regular business hours pretty difficult.)

Beyond the scheduling challenges, overseas travel might be tricky with our dog. But traveling across the country? That feels doable.

My husband keeps reminding me, This is an adventure. And while I appreciate the sentiment, the reality of not knowing where we’ll be next week is… uncomfortable.

I understand why that is. From an evolutionary standpoint, change often meant danger. Sticking to familiar areas helped our ancestors avoid poisonous plants, dangerous predators, and places with scarce food. In other words, it kept us alive.

Still, I just did the math and realized that by March 9—just 33 days after evacuating—we will have stayed in five different places. That’s a little too much adventure for my taste!  And yet, might the chance for adventure outweight the discomfort of change???

Our Story

Like I mentioned last week, by far, the most comforting thing for me has been connecting with others. The topic of losing our house comes up pretty often. And if I’m being completely honest, we leap at the opportunity to share our story when someone starts asking questions.

There’s something powerful about being heard. About telling our story. About getting the thoughts out of our heads and accepting the kindness of others—words of encouragement, hugs, and shared moments that lighten the load.

Maintaining my coaching schedule has also been a blessing. Listening to other people’s stories reminds me that I can choose where to place my attention—how much time I spend thinking about uncertainty and loss versus how much time I spend supporting others and considering what’s possible for us now.

Other People’s Stories

What I’ve discovered about myself lately is that more than thinking about my own situation, what really brings me to tears is hearing other people’s stories—and witnessing their kindness.

Our family loves board games, so when we came across a toy store, we decided to buy a backgammon set. As we chatted with the salesperson, we learned that she had not only lost her home in one of the fires near Santa Barbara, but she had also been severely burned. Her injuries were so bad that doctors put her into a medically induced coma while she was in the hospital.

Then, just two days ago, we had our FEMA interview. As we talked, the rep shared that just before the fires, she had received a serious medical diagnosis. But when she got the call to work on this emergency, she decided to set aside her own situation and focus on supporting people in LA first. She’ll deal with her own crisis later.

I’m abundantly aware of how fortunate we are—having insurance, a strong support system, and people in our lives who can and want to help. Not everyone has that.

Equal Air Time

You might have noticed that everything I’ve shared feels true to me. This could be an adventure. People are kind. Others do have their own challenges.

I’m not trying to think positive thoughts—it’s just that, through my coach training, I learned about a concept called equal air time. It’s the idea that more than one thing can be true at the same time, and that as humans, we have the ability to intentionally shift our focus.

The loss and uncertainty are real. But what’s also real is feeling more deeply connected to others than ever before and the possibility of adventure.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not suggesting that it’s all rainbows and daisies, or even that we want it to be that. It’s equally important that we don’t ignore the harder emotions. Sometimes, we need to feel sad. We need to grieve. And if and when we want to, we also have the power to shape our experience—even if it's just a little—by choosing where we place our attention.

So maybe that’s the lesson in all of this. That life isn’t just one story—it’s many. The ones that bring us to tears and the ones that lift us up. And maybe, just maybe, we get to decide which ones get the most airtime.

Thank you for listening to my story. I hope you read something here that makes your experience—whether it’s this or any other challenge—a little easier to navigate.

Please pass this on to anyone who might find it helpful. And if you ever want to talk, I’m here.