Catastophic fires have been burning in the West, East, and North since my January 7 birthday last week. My grandmother’s house, childhood neighborhood, and homes of my earliest clients (back when I exclusively coached entertainment people) were all threatened by an arson fire in the Hollywood Hills a couple of blocks above where I grew up. My husband and I walked Runyon Canyon there the day before to celebrate my birthday.

Miraculously, thanks to a drop in winds and the super-heroic efforts and coordination of local and international firefighters in the air and on the ground, all my family and friends and former clients’ houses are still standing, including the house of my earliest childhood friend (since we were 6 months old), which was standing across the street from the fire as it blazed across Wattles Park.

In fact it does seem like my loved ones in Alta Dena, the Palisades, Santa Monica, Brentwood, Hollywood, and the San Fernando Valley have been shielded by some sort of protective bubble. While many have evacuated, so far their homes are still standing, even the homes that were in the heart of fire zones. At least everyone I know about so far. Amazing.

Everyone’s in shock. We’re all on high alert. It will take time to process what has been lost. I’m one of the lucky ones, and I’ve never felt so exhausted and weepy. The volunteer efforts and generosity of Angelenos to take care of our neighbors is awe inspiring. We’ll continue to do this for months and maybe years after the fires are put out.

Right now I’m practicing gratitude for what has been: that I had the privileges of walking around the Palisades for years, of visiting the Will Rogers park and house, of playing in Wattles Park as a child, of dining at Moonshadows, of driving up PCH to take acting classes back in the day and to scatter grandma’s ashes in Malibu.