This is a personal one.
Deborah Ginsburg, MBA
Communicator | Strategist | Transformer | Creator | Motivator | Relationship Builder | Consultant | Team Builder
It's hard to focus on writing about business when my heart is with family and friends battling the wildfires in Los Angeles—a place that's been my home through thick and thin, through fire, and, quite literally, through earthquakes.
I was just three during the 1971 quake. My only memory is of my dad crawling into my bedroom on his hands and knees.
But the 1994 Northridge earthquake? That's etched in my mind.
I was in Century City, in an old 1940s apartment. The shaking was violent. It felt like someone picked up the apartment and dropped it. And it was so loud you couldn’t hear anything other than the earth. Every single dish and glass I owned was shattered. My makeshift furniture, luckily on castors, meant my tech survived, but my soy sauce bottle apparently did 360s around the room; the ceiling was splattered with it.
Then there was the freeway collapse. To this day, I get anxious waiting under overpasses at traffic lights.
Like then, there's this feeling of helplessness, of watching something powerful and uncontrollable unfold. Aftershocks kept me on edge for weeks after the quake. I remember watching the plants, using them as my own personal barometer to see if the ground was still moving.
The Valley has seen its share of fires, too.
Some, like the ones near Porter Ranch in 2008, came dangerously close. Other fires, while still devastating, painted the sky with the most surreal sunsets, plumes of smoke against the fading light.
But this week is different. This week, the fires feel too close, too personal.
It’s hard to focus on anything else when my family and closest friends are battling the wildfires in Los Angeles—the town I grew up in, where my family and closest friends still live.
I’ve lived away from home, in the North San Fernando Valley (yes, I’m a Valley girl!), for almost 30 years. But it’s still home.
Being so far away has always been hard, but this week, with the fires raging, it feels especially difficult.
My aunt and uncle in Pacific Palisades are among the lucky few whose house is still standing, but their community is devastated. My cousin and his husband evacuated from Pasadena, and my grandmother from her home in the Sepulveda Hills. My childhood home sits surrounded by fires—north, south, east, and west—leaving me wondering where my parents would even go if they needed to evacuate. I've been checking on my friends but that is not much.
Feeling helpless is an understatement.
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I wish I could be there to help, but there’s little any one person can do to stop the fires. It's truly heartening to see the brave firefighters on the front lines battling these blazes day and night. And with crews coming in from other states, even from Canada, all doing what they can to help it is reassuring my faith in humanity.
But we are not helpless. We can do things to help.
While it's easy to look for someone to blame, right now, focusing on helping those affected is the most important thing we can do. (Please keep the political rhetoric to yourself.)
We can donate time, money, and supplies to those who have lost their homes, their jobs, and their memories. We can support each of us individually in the best way. In times like these, community is everything. Let's support each other and help rebuild what's been lost and we will get back to business next week.
https://www.guidestar.org??????????????
Venture Capitalist/Biotech Analyst/Marketing Advisor
1 个月There is no way to fully encapsulate my thoughts and emotions at this blow to the heart of LA but your words echo my sentiments. I pray for all of Los Angeles now.
Board Member - Candesant & Digital Team Lead - Tech for Campaigns. Formerly CMO - Talkspace, CEO - Wellgate, Board Member - Higher One.
1 个月Yep, I feel this one too. So tragic.
For people, for purpose. AI innovation, marketing, brand strategy.
1 个月A poignant post. Thank you for sharing, especially the links.