A Letter from LA…
Never in a million years did I think I’d be writing an email like this at the start of 2025, from a hotel next to LAX, where I’ve been with my family since evacuating from the Palisades on 01.07.25. John and I have raised our boys in the Palisades since 2012.
John and I were literally sitting at our dining room table doing 2025 planning and watched the fire start from our front porch. It was moving incredibly quickly, so much so that we got the call from Felix’s school, our middle son, to come pick him up immediately. His school sits at the base of one of the major canyons in the Palisades. Within 45 minutes the fire was burning the hillside of their school. We’re forever grateful for the head of his school getting every child out of that building.
The rest is a bit of a blur.
What's important is that we’re safe and we got all of our animals out (fish, 3 cats, and Sargent the Sheedadoodle). We landed at a hotel by LAX, and started to watch everything unfold with the rest of the world. By Wednesday morning, we heard from many of our friends that the majority of every neighborhood was completely wiped out. Friends from our street sent us photos of their absolutely demolished house, and for most of the day, we thought our house was no different. However, it turns out that there are 5 houses standing on our street, and ours is one of them. It is a miracle. Completely intact on the outside. I can’t make this up if I tried. (Our family went out to dinner the night of the fires, and the name of the waitress who served us was “Miracle.”)
Unlike the majority of our friends and community, we do have the gift of going through our ‘things’ and for that, we’re incredibly grateful. John biked up to our house 24 hours after the fire started before they brought in the National Guard and blocked the whole area, and it very much resembled a war zone.
My youngest and I went 2 days later (after waiting 9 hours to be police escorted) and we had 20 minutes in our house, in the pitch dark. It was surreal. Filled with ash, smoke, and wearing N95 masks, for a split moment it felt so good to be home. This weird thing happens where we personify our home and hope that it wasn’t scared, or hurt because it was truly one of the very few standing. We left with our eyes itching, horrible headaches and a cough.
I can hear myself saying over and over ‘leadership happens in the moment’ and the ONLY thing any of us have control over, is how we relate to our circumstances, people and places. I found myself personifying my home and hoping it’s not scared and not in pain given the absolute destruction all around.
As someone with an extensive leadership toolkit, this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. John and I process things differently. I tend to oscillate back and forth between letting my feelers feel everything, to getting &$*% done. John tends to turn inward to process while going into business mode. One thing I’ve become hyper-aware of is that showing up for my clients and continuing to coach has been a source of light and energy.
However, after being in this situation for a week, I’m being called to break from all coaching for the next 21 days. I’ll be pausing all work and stabilizing my family, finding a home, getting all my boys back in school, and ensuring everyone is safe and emotionally ok.The work I do is extremely important, and I want to ensure I’m showing up to the best of my ability.
Our top priority is our boy’s mental and emotional health in addition to our own (as well as finding a place to live for the next 6 months to stabilize). There’s no playbook for this scenario, so we’re finding our way with our boys - letting them process in a way that works for them, while also prioritizing helping them see friends and experience moments of joy. Their entire childhood as they know it has been forever changed. A home that’s not habitable, a community that’s now spread out all over with many forced to move now. Every business, store, restaurant, and park they knew is gone. Poof.
The greatest gift from this horrific nightmare has been the experience of seeing, not just our Palisades community mobilize and help each other in every way possible, but also being on the receiving end of so much love. John and I have been brought to our knees over the incredible care, generosity and support we’ve received from our family, friends and my clients.
Pls know I’m not giving up on 2025. I’m committed to this being an incredible year for my clients, my community, and my family and I.
One of my coaches reminded me yesterday that this whole experience is similar to surfing. When you’re riding on a wave and you start to feel wobbly due to the water, it’s tempting to look right in front of you to find your balance. However, that will throw you off even more. Instead, you want to focus your gaze at the beach, and the more that you look a bit in front of you, the more you can ground into your stance, and stabilize your core.
Whatever turbulence you might be facing, notice where your gaze is and see if you can look just a little bit further. Not so much that it overwhelms you, just enough that it allows you to steady yourself.
This is me slowing way down, which as you know is very uncomfortable, but on the other side of that discomfort, I know there will be plenty of clarity, creativity, recharging, and rest. I’ll be back coaching and sharing in the SG community in 3 weeks. If you’re looking for ways to support my family, the greatest gift is by making a referral. If you have someone in mind, please email Jayme, my assistant, and she will get them on my calendar for when I return for a complimentary coaching session.