Tiny and Huge Beautiful Things: On the Unimaginable Losses in LA

I wake up this morning under the new comforter I finally found at HomeGoods after two months of searching.

Outside my bedroom window is the neighbor’s tree I have watched grow every year, silhouetted by the sunrise.

I brush my teeth in the bathroom where I know every scratch and chip in the vanity countertop, slip into the FitFlops I’ve worn for three years, and go downstairs for my morning rituals: heat the neck warmer in the microwave, make the coffee, turn up the thermostat, open my iPad for the NY Times puzzles, take my vitamins.

It is all so familiar. I’ve lived here with my family for over 25 years.

And all I can think about is the friends who have lost it all in Los Angeles this week.

I can’t even imagine the pain.

Familiar Morning View

My husband and I have made our list of what we would grab if we had to rush out --- and it’s surprisingly small. Our important documents, computers, purse, wallets, the cat. Seems like, should the worst happen, we would have to leave a lot behind.

Sure, it’s just “things” - but not really. 

There have been a few laundry days when I’ve imagined truly paring down the essentials to where there is less to take care of. I’ve read about “Swedish Death Cleaning”, and how minimized living clears space for new experiences, opportunities, and even people.

But seriously - to lose it ALL?

How that must hurt. 

And what about the people in your neighborhood? Even if the age of Block Parties is fading, we do get used to seeing the face of that man who walks his Golden Lab every morning. Waving to the mail carrier. Watching kids wait for the schoolbus, taller every September.

Imagine all that: gone. 

The familiar, the comforting, the treasured items. Not to mention things that help you make a living, provide for your family.

Imagine shopping for - oh, I don’t know - underwear. A new pot and pan. Furniture. A toothbrush. A pillow that feels just right.

Everything.

And that’s only after you’ve figured out where it will all go, where you will live.

What can we, the lucky who wake up in our own beds, do?

Well, we can stop with any ridiculous conspiracy theories - or any theories at all. There is no “why” to this, spiritually. There is just What, How, and Now What?

We can give credit and respect to the firefighters, and to the people who are reaching out to help.

We can help - as many already are. If possible, there are reputable places to donate money.

And - we can be so, so grateful for what we have.  Take the moment. Appreciate it - even the fingerprints on the doorknob, the chip in the counter, the snow in the driveway.

Tiny Beautiful Things

Home. Sweet. Home.

When I think of the families affected by the wildfires, I think of their “tiny beautiful things” (yes, inspired by the title of a series I just started to watch on the TV we are still so lucky to have), scattered or destroyed. It’s not just walls and roofs they’ve lost, but the intangible web of memories and comforts those spaces held.

We honor these things in our own lives by taking the time to notice them.

Huge Beautiful Things

The outpouring of support in times of crisis is one of humanity’s most profound traits. Strangers opening their homes, volunteers organizing donation drives, firefighters risking their lives—these are the huge beautiful things. They remind us that even when the unimaginable happens, we are not alone. There’s a collective strength that emerges, a tapestry of care and resilience that holds us together.

Holding Space for Both

Today, I’ll carry both gratitude and grief in my heart. Gratitude for the safety and comforts I have, and grief for the families whose lives have been forever changed.

If you’re feeling this too—this mix of emotions—know that it’s okay to hold both. We can cherish what’s here while working to support those in need. Consider donating to relief funds, volunteering, or simply reaching out to someone who might need a kind word.

Tiny and huge, life is full of beautiful things. Let’s not take them for granted, and let’s not forget to share them when we can. For those in Los Angeles and beyond, we see you, we feel with you, and we stand with you - always wishing we could do more.