It’s a surreal, disturbing thing to watch the wildfires in Los Angeles and know that people I know and love are caught up in all of that. I mean that in the literal sense; I know people who got the evacuation notice and had to get the fuck out of there, leaving me — who’s lucky in that I’m states away from any of this and in no danger whatsoever — in a heightened state of anxiety and concern for them and thinking, over and over, I can’t imagine going through that myself.
I’ve been astonishingly lucky in terms of natural disasters, in that I’ve never really had to go through one. I think the worst I’ve ever personally had to deal with has been… an earthquake or two in San Francisco when I lived there, maybe? There was a hurricane in my hometown when I was a kid that was terrifying because it sucked a window out of our attic, but (a) I might be misremembering, and (b) our house wasn’t in the best shape at any given moment, so maybe that wasn’t that serious of a feat after all. Kid memories are always notoriously untrustworthy.
I remember, too, the wildfire smoke in Portland from the past few summers, and the days when the sky was orange because of the pollution and debris in the air; how curiously, surreally dystopian and cinematic it felt, and entirely unrealistic at the same time. How could this be the actual real world I asked myself as I ventured outside, the oppressive heat and thick air feeling like something artificial, as if I was in some strange room that I’d be able to step outside of and breathe freely again.
It’ll be worse than that in LA right now; the photos I’ve seen look like special effects from disaster movies, and videos of burned out neighborhoods that just don’t exist anymore. Everything I see makes me realize again how lucky I’ve been, and how little I’ve had to experience. I really can’t imagine going through any of it myself, and I’m so sorry, and so fearful, for those who have to.
