Fire
Why do we surround ourselves with so much stuff and does it even matter?
This is the question I have been asking myself since Thursday, December 30, 2021. I was enjoying quiet time in my home alone when my husband called to tell me that he and my two children had just driven through a wildfire that was quickly bearing down on my town. He was noticeably fearful and that is an emotion I don’t often hear from him. The kids were in shock. Minutes later they arrived home and the smoke plume was billowing a couple of miles away but visible from the backyard. How could this be happening? Structures were already on fire, that was obvious and the fire was headed straight for Louisville. After several moments of uncertainty, we decided to pack up and head east. Formal evacuation notices would follow. What to take with you when evacuated? I was paralyzed. Suddenly, material goods inside the house built in large part with my husband’s hands did not seem to matter. We needed only each other and grabbed our pets, a few clothing items, sentimental jewelry, laptops, and important paperwork. We left in two cars and were immediately struck with how polite everyone was heading east. We didn’t know where to go or what to do so we stopped at the kids’ school and snapped this photo.
I still thought we would go back home that night. Once it became obvious that wasn’t happening we continued on, had a bite to eat, and stayed the night in a hotel in Boulder. Tens of thousands of people were in the same situation, bunking with friends or filling up hotels throughout the metro area. Unfathomable. We understood how close the fire had come (within a mile) but didn’t fully understand the devastation. We would learn in the subsequent days how horrible and unfair the fire had been. Over 1,000 structures were destroyed in Superior, Louisville, and unincorporated Boulder County. Our house was safe and aside from minor inconveniences (lack of gas service and potable water), we were unscathed. But not our community. While resilient and beautiful, our community is severely wounded. We are banding together to help those impacted by the fire. We will rebuild. It will take time. And yet, for now, it is ugly and devastating for so many. There are so many questions with no good answers.
I will live with the horror of this day for the rest of my life and I was one of the lucky ones. What will I learn from it? Many lessons. The first of which is my relationship with stuff. Things. I actually had a bit of time before the evacuation. We were fortunate. I could have taken so much. And I choose to take nothing. I am struck by that choice. I have many beautiful things. Art, furniture, clothing, etc. None of it mattered to me at that moment. All I wanted was my family, pets, and community to be safe. But we were not all safe. As of today, there is one person dead and one person presumed dead. Unimaginable for those families and friends and unbelievable that there were not more casualties given the scale of the evacuation. It’s a testament to this special community.
I question my relationship with stuff from a place of privilege. Again, I didn’t lose anything. And to be clear, had the fire taken my home, I would have mourned the loss of it all. Believe me, I would have. But I am curious about the choice we made in those panicked moments. I was so overwhelmed by the amount of material items that I chose to leave with none of it. That is not a healthy response. I wonder if I had less, would it be easier to KNOW what is important to me?
I heard a news story on Colorado Public Radio about a family that lost everything. The fire destroyed not one of the family’s homes but both as the parents were separated. Their outlook was familiar in saying, “We all need a lot less. I’m never going back to where I was. And I’m happy about that. So I think that’s really what I got out of this.” If someone who lost everything is questioning this material relationship, I owe it to myself to do the same.
