The city where I live is burning

But the flame in my heart is eternal

They say it’s the biggest city fire in US history—bigger than The Great Chicago Fire and larger in square miles than Manhattan.

On Tuesday, I heard about a fire breaking out in the Pacific Palisades and Topanga Canyon—my go-to spots. Los Leones and Eagle Rock Trails with free parking (a unicorn in LA), those lush, mountain views that make you feel like you're in Colorado, but, surprise, there's surfers and dolphins below. It's where I go to forget I live in a densely-populated city.

These hikes are a solid grind—at least six miles, 1300 feet of elevation—but it’s so scenic you forget you're basically auditioning for Survivor. You hit Inspiration Point, and BAM! The Pacific Coast stretches out like a postcard. You can see out to Playa del Rey hugging the coast, curving all the way into LAX. And if you’re feeling extra spicy, the backbone trail merges into the PCT, where you can “run” all the way up the West Coast if you’re audacious enough, no overpriced gym membership required. The weather’s so perfect you half expect Mother Nature to ask for royalties.

But now? It’s gone. Two days ago, the whole area went through the most gnarly wildfire. Not a "scorched earth" vibe—more like a war zone. 99% of the homes and businesses have burned to the ground. It’s like Mother Nature said, “You’re too pretty to live,” and hit delete.

Well, at least the fleas that I kept attracting and dragging home with me—they’ll finally be gone.

Words can’t really capture the gut punch of watching destruction unfold in places people I love know by heart, places tied to some of your best memories. Driving the PCH through the Palisades and Malibu—it’s the heartbeat of Southern California, the soul of what makes this place feel alive. And now most of that coastline is just...gone.

Those stunning beachfront homes have been reduced to ash. Iconic restaurants wiped out. Everything that gave this place its character—the scenery, the vibe, the way of life—it doesn’t exist anymore. It’s like someone ripped the soul out of SoCal and left behind nothing but smoke and silence.

I’ve been on high alert, glued to KTLA’s coverage every waking minute, refreshing the Watch Duty app like clockwork to track evacuation zones and prepare for the possibility of bolting at a moment’s notice. So far, luck’s been on our side. Even though I’m just 10 miles from the heart of it all, my neighborhood has been spared. Power’s still on, and everything I own is right where I left it.

But the reminders are everywhere—the air reeks of smoke, a thick layer of dust has turned my car into a canvas, and the sky burns with this eerie sepia glow. My partner and I are safe, which feels like a gift, but it’s impossible to feel settled knowing others aren’t. Friends have evacuated, some have lost their homes, and others are stuck in limbo, not knowing if they’ll return to rubble or relief. It’s stressful, unnerving, and the kind of worry that keeps you staring at the ceiling at 3am.

I’ve been deeply moved by the resilience and compassion of those who’ve lost everything yet still show up for their community—volunteering, rescuing animals, handing out meals to evacuees. It’s incredible to see that kind of strength in the face of devastation.

And the firefighters have been absolute heroes. They’ve been out there battling 70mph winds with limited water resources, protecting entire neighborhoods that otherwise would’ve been obliterated. The scale of what they’ve achieved is nothing short of miraculous. It’s a reminder of how people can rise to extraordinary heights, even in the darkest moments.

I've been blown away by how people who don’t even live here, who’ve never been to these places, are showing up with so much care and support. It’s like the whole world just paused for a second to give this city a giant hug. Coworkers from other states have been checking in, totally understanding that I’ve been a useless blob for the past few days. Meetings? Cancelled. Deadlines? Pushed. My inbox? Overflowing with love from family out of state.

And then there are the people who are, like, processing in their own way. Some are doing the virtue signal blame game, others are grabbing the moment to push their political agenda, and a few are twisting this into their own little narrative. And honestly? I get it. People cope however they can. So, I’m trying to give them grace, even if I’m over here side-eyeing the heck out of it.

When this is all over, and the danger has finally passed, you better believe I’ll be out there—on the beaches, in the neighborhoods—helping to clean up the debris, offering a shoulder to lean on, and lending a hand to those who need it most. Sure, people like to poke fun at LA and its quirks, but out here on the west side, we care. This is a community that’s tight, resilient, and refuses to back down. We’ll heal. We’ll rebuild. Because this is where some of the most creative, strong, and hustling folks come from—people who aren’t just built to survive, but to come out stronger on the other side.