Passive Protaganist
Are we all fooling ourselves that we have any agency?
Everyone responds differently to catastrophes. Some become doers, talkers, and connectors, while others retreat, disappear, and rely on their neighbors. One thing we all share is that, in that moment, we became passive protagonists.
The fire (or insert whatever climate catastrophe) happened to us. We didn’t choose it and are all just surviving in its wake. When will our decisions no longer be linked to this catastrophe? When will our lives return to our own?
Some people already let life happen to them. Those who feel no control and that the events of their lives are preordained. That isn’t the promise of the American Dream. We are taught to manifest our destinies. Only no one put a fire on their vision board for 2025. Very few wanted their entire lives; their physical histories turned to ash.
It’s a significant toll on our minds. Here we are, especially in the Palisades (and I think similarly in Eaton), where we choose to live in paradise. It is in a beautiful, safe community for our kids, a little haven on the edge of the bigger city. Every Saturday, I had a playdate in Malibu, and every Sunday, we saw our friends at the Farmer’s Market. I chose and built my life. I even had my son on my own. Every part is curated and thought out. I even recently explored moving away and couldn’t bear the thought. Until now, I live exactly where I decided I didn’t want to live. I explored it last summer, over Thanksgiving, and decided that the Palisades is where I want to raise my son.
And yet, here I am, walking down the street in Brooklyn this morning after dropping my son off at his new preschool, and it feels otherworldly. Just three month after the fire, my entire life is different. I have a new set of choices, directly opposed to the choices I made just months before.
Within days of the fire, I immediately saw that what I had loved about the Palisades had been lost. It will be the same for someone else, but everyone dispersed to different parts of the city. My community is there, but if you know LA, some are in the South Bay, and others are in the valley. No matter what, I am building a new community.
By the end of the fire week, I decided to be displaced in Brooklyn. I wanted more family and more normalcy. My life didn’t need to revolve around something I didn’t choose. Within hours of making that decision, I purchased plane tickets for me and my son for the following week. I arrived with three suitcases and a tote full of toys. A week later, I moved from a hotel to an apartment my son still calls his hotel.
A funny thing can happen in three months. New rhythms, new friends, new clothing. The life I chose is fading away, and a new set of choices emerges. However, life in the Palisades seems to be standing still. I’m still waiting on environmental testing, and I’m still negotiating with insurance. The public health decree says it’s unsafe to be 250 yards from a burnt structure, and yet some people are moving back and ignoring the science. Some people want normalcy, but it's far from normal. None of us are in a reality we want, so I don’t blame them for trying hard to return to a life that no longer exists. I feel for them. There are only two choices: the delusion of a past that no longer exists or waking up and accepting there is no going backward. The past no longer exists beyond our memories.
When I think about my home, sitting in ash, all I can think about is the panic I felt watching the fire grow. I got stuck on Palisades Dr., feeling the heat while I coordinated my son’s rescue. To my son, he was being picked up by his friend’s dad, whom he loves. He had giggles all the way to their house. To us, he was grabbing them early from school and fleeing a fire, a fire I couldn’t escape.
I still can’t seem to escape it. It is still a reality I’m living underneath the surface of a new rhythm, a new dream that doesn’t feel like it’s mine. And yet, each day is full of a thousand choices and endless outcomes. My joy comes when I’m present and leave the past to disappear. The eraser of time removing the parts I don’t want to remember.
The biggest lesson I’ve learned at this moment is that stress peaks when I resist my reality. And joy comes when I choose to stand where I am and let in whatever good I can find around me. It seems I’m a passive protagonist of the universe’s will and an active protagonist in my joy.