I live in Calabasas, a few miles from Malibu and the horrific wildfires.
From our home, I watched in horror as the wildfires danced from one mountain top to another. From my vantage point, I wasn’t sure whether the orange glow in the distance was a sunrise or the looming threat of a wildfire.
My younger child in San Diego told me to download an app called Watch Duty—a fire-tracking lifesaver for those of us living in wildfire-prone areas of Los Angeles.
Until then, I had no idea such a tool existed, or that I’d soon need it. Quickly, all my local friends and I became experts in understanding its legends, layers and markers to track the wildfire as it frolicked from one location to another.
The sound of the windchimes in my backyard (which in earlier times sounded so musical) now became a warning signal of possible danger.
My life also turned into a chaotic mess of survival and prioritization. Packing our things into our cars for safety was a practice in prioritization as we tried to determine what to take and what to leave behind.
It’s a great exercise in determining what are valuables, really?
What are essentials? Is it your wedding outfit, tucked away and preserved from years ago? Your expensive purses? Your kids’ (now working adults!) “artwork”, painstakingly created with beans, macaroni, and glitter?
With time ticking, firetruck sirens piercing your ears, the smell of smoke permeating the air like a cheap drugstore perfume, many things race through your mind, should you take this or that?
The VCR tapes and albums that you never got around to transferring into digital? Maybe those sentimental keepsakes matter less than your jewelry or heirlooms because of their monetary value?
This harrowing experience wasn’t the first time wildfires threatened my home. During an earlier evacuation, when my husband was traveling, I faced this same existential question when my two kids were young.
My younger one insisted on saving their drum set—a logistical nightmare as I tried to fit all the pieces into my kind friend’s car who housed the drum set and my younger child as Mother Nature spewed flames and smoke and sirens (once again!) pierced our ears.
My teenage son was adamant about taking his PlayStation and favorite video games. My husband, who was safely away in Michigan, called to remind me to move his motorcycle to safety (Lots of expletives come to mind when you get that phone call!).
It’s almost laughable now, but in the moment, there’s nothing amusing about the desperation of deciding what to take with you when nature is showing its angry side.
Voices From the Fire
As California continues to battle wildfires and we second guess whether the orange haze in the distance is really a sunrise or another advancing firestorm, stories from others enduring this same ordeal reveal a common thread of humanity amidst chaos.
One evacuee, Maria Ramirez from Paradise, CA, shared: “The hardest part wasn’t leaving the house—it was leaving behind the memories. My grandmother’s quilt didn’t make it into the car. I don’t know why that haunts me more than the house burning down.”
Meanwhile, Los Angeles resident Ethan Wang put it bluntly: “When you’re running out of time, practicality takes over. I grabbed my laptop, my passport, and the box of love letters my wife wrote me when we were dating. Everything else seemed replaceable.”
These stories echo the universal truth: Disasters strip us down to our essence. They force us to decide what we truly value.
A Moment for Reflection
After many days of evacuation, I’ve returned to my home, grateful but changed—there’s no electricity, no dishwasher, no TV but it’s great to be home within familiar surroundings.
As I look around at all the things we’ve accumulated over the years—paintings, gadgets, stacks of books, and tchotchkes—I’m struck by how little of it I really needed.
During those four days, I survived with just the contents of my car, and you know what? It was enough.
It’s a transitional time in my life as we determine whether to stay in this area or move away. Move into smaller, more manageable dwelling? In Sanskrit, an ancient language, there’s a phrase that resonates deeply with me now:
“अल्पस्य कारणं सुखम्।” (Alpasya kāraṇam sukham.)
Translation: “The cause of happiness is simplicity.”
This ancient wisdom feels more relevant than ever. Maybe the fires are nature’s way of reminding us to let go of the excess, to find joy in simplicity, and to stop measuring our lives by the weight of our possessions.
Try it Yourself
Even if you’re not in the middle of a wildfire, consider this exercise.
Take 10–15 minutes and imagine that you must evacuate. What would you take? What do you cherish most? The answers might surprise you—and just might inspire you to reevaluate the “stuff” you surround yourself with.
As for me, I’m embracing the lesson these fires have taught me: Less really is more.
Nishtha Raheja Goel is an ethnogeriatric consultant, founder of USIndianSeniors.com, writer, speaker, and ethno-artist. She can be reached at [email protected].
All views expressed are the author’s own.
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