Ready, Set...Evacuate!

This week, I turned 68. Birthdays, at this stage of life, aren’t just milestones—they’re checkpoints. A moment to pause, look around, and ask: Where am I? Where am I going?

And honestly, what does it mean to be 68 in 2025?

I didn’t celebrate with balloons or cake. Instead, it was a quiet day of introspection. I sat with questions I don’t yet have answers to:

• How do we reconcile the wealth of resources in this country with the staggering inequality in their distribution?

• What does it mean to build resilience—not just for ourselves but for our communities?

• How do we keep expanding, growing, and learning, even when the world feels like it’s breaking apart?

This week brought stark reminders of life’s fragility. The wildfires here in Southern California came dangerously close—just one canyon over. Iconic landmarks like Grauman’s Chinese Theatre were under evacuation orders.

We were lucky. Others weren’t. I’ve seen photos of neighborhoods leveled to nothing but ash and memories. Entire communities wiped off the map. It’s devastating.

And while social media can be a fascinating mirror of humanity in these moments, it’s also maddening. The noise is relentless: blame games, conspiracy theories, hollow claims, and deflections. Someone donating five dollars to your GoFundMe page is akin to offering thoughts and prayers after a mass shooting. It doesn’t change their true colors—it’s a hollow gesture.

Truly kind, decent people don’t waste time pointing fingers in the middle of a crisis—they focus on solutions and accountability. Yet those same “kind” people are supporting rhetoric that denies climate change and perpetuates inaction, only deepening the problem.

This isn’t about sides. It’s about survival. The question isn’t who’s to blame—it’s what we’re going to do about it.

Amidst the chaos, though, I found a story that stopped me in my tracks. A woman in Altadena, standing in the ruins of her home, invited a videographer into the ashes with a wry smile. She picked up the remnants of her painting desk and said, “My art and self-expression don’t hinge on the circumstances of my life. To be honest, I’ll probably paint better now. I can’t wait!”

I was stunned by her attitude. Here was someone who had lost everything but refused to lose herself. Her resilience was inspiring.

Her story was a reminder that while we can’t control what happens to us, we can control how we respond.

I’ve been thinking a lot about resilience lately—how it’s not just something we have but something we cultivate. It’s the ability to see possibility in the ashes, to adapt, and to create beauty in the face of chaos.

Art, I believe, is one of the greatest tools for resilience. It connects us. It heals us. It reminds us of what’s possible.

That’s why Gary and I are heading to the Fog Design+Art fair in San Francisco. This event is a celebration of creativity and self-expression, a place where art speaks louder than politics, division, or fear.

Art has a way of cutting through the noise, offering clarity and connection. It’s a reminder that even in the most challenging times, we can still create.

If you’re in the Bay Area, why not join us? Let’s grab a coffee and wander through the exhibits together. Let’s have a conversation about life, resilience, and the questions we’re asking.

Here’s the link to the Fog Art show:

Closing Thought:
As I reflect on 68 years of life, here’s what I’ve learned: resilience isn’t something you’re born with. It’s forged in the fires—both literal and metaphorical—that test us. It’s nurtured by the people we surround ourselves with and the energy we choose to let into our lives.

This year, I’m choosing to focus on resilience, art, and growth. On the hope that even in the ashes, we can find something worth celebrating.

What about you?