This story originally was published in the Warwick Beacon, a publication partner of Ocean State Stories, and it was written by Gwen Pearson.
Editor’s note: Gwen Pearson grew up in East Greenwich and spent time with her grandparents in Warwick. She graduated from Loyola Marymount University in Los Angeles in 2022 and now works for a nonprofit agency in the city.
When I moved to Los Angeles in 2020 to complete my bachelor’s degree in journalism, I was buzzing on the energy the city vibrated. As a writer, I seemed to find inspiration everywhere – papered on lofty buildings, pressed against walls in crowded clubs, discarded beneath freeway overpasses. The streets were dynamic, flooded with creativity and individuality. It’s this energy that drew me to the city in the first place.
Now, I live on the west side of LA in a small community called Playa Vista, a relatively suburban area that offers a break from my demanding job at a nonprofit in the roaring heart of the city. My neighborhood is 15 minutes from Santa Monica and 20 from Beverly Hills. Growing up in Rhode Island, I had expected I would experience earthquakes once I moved, but never wildfires.
On Wednesday, Jan. 8, I woke up to the smell of smoke. At first, I felt nostalgic, reminded of childhood memories by the fire pit. For a moment, the familiar scent was a welcome surprise. But reality kicked in as the smoke covertly and swiftly snaked under the doors and between windows, and I quickly recognized I wasn’t dreaming. Soon I was completely awake and aware of the sobering truth. Los Angeles was on fire.
There were warnings, local government officials and law enforcement advocating vigilance, but it can be hard to determine the real urgency. Yet, something felt eerily heavy that morning. Perhaps it was the ballooning clouds of smoke that littered the sky as I made my way to work, or the realization that death and destruction was raging over the hills. As I dusted off my car, which was blanketed in gray ash, I looked at the horizon to notice the sun was making its ascent. Blood-orange and striking, it was an emblem of so much uncertainty and fear that the morning felt sinister, as if the fires were feeding off this terror.
The air quality was so unhealthy from the wafting smoke and ash that people were afraid to go outdoors. If they did, masks were strongly advised, as even the healthiest people were gasping and wheezing. I took the advice and often wear a mask.
My commute to work, which normally left me sitting in traffic for an hour, was ghostly quiet. During my drive, I traced the trail of smoke coming from the raging fire in the Pacific Palisades, and I was able to see where it looked most saturated just above the western hills. It felt almost inappropriate to carry on with my day when the smoke plumes were clearly signaling there were people and places I knew and were in danger. In my office, masks were required and calls for us to evacuate echoed throughout the day as we were even closer to the new fires that had just begun in the Hollywood area.
On my drive home from work that day, after being flooded with videos of the destruction of entire communities and warnings to boil my water before drinking it, I was struck by two major emotions: grief and guilt.
Grief, for the vibrant city I have called home and the constructed realities of thousands of people that had now come crashing down. And guilt, that my life had escaped roaring flames and come out seemingly unscathed. I’ve only experienced the fires from a distance, almost desensitized by the proximity, that the distance is merely a few miles and not across the country like most of my family.
But as I grapple with the tumbling twists of emotions, I’ve noticed unity and flourishing waves of empathy as people band together. As these fires continue to plague LA and its residents, I am overcome by an even stronger sentiment: hope. I’ve felt the same surge of creativity that tethered me to Los Angeles in the first place, this time in the form of resources, support and aid to those affected by the fires.
Local restaurants have offered free meals to first responders and people who have been displaced, and many businesses have started clothing drives and fundraisers. It’s been a reminder that places like Los Angeles, which seem vastly different from Rhode Island, possess the same tender benevolence that is beyond geography, that is present in all of us.
