When Fire Comes Calling: A Wake-Up Call About What Truly Matters

My phone buzzed at 5:47 AM this morning. Then again at 6:03. And again at 6:15. Each message carried the same underlying tone of controlled panic: "If we need to evacuate, can we come to your place?"

As I write this, wildfires are raging through Los Angeles County, forcing thousands to confront a question most of us spend our lives avoiding: What would you take with you if you had just minutes to leave your home, possibly forever?

It's a deceptively simple question that reveals profound truths about human nature and value. In my decades of studying human behavior and working with leaders across industries, I've observed how people make decisions under pressure. But there's something uniquely clarifying about a natural disaster that strips away our carefully constructed hierarchies and forces us to confront what truly matters.

Fire, you see, is the ultimate equalizer. It doesn't negotiate. It doesn't care about your stock portfolio, your corner office, or your social media following. It doesn't distinguish between the Tesla in your driveway and the fifteen-year-old Honda next door. Fire reduces life to its most fundamental equation: survival and meaning.

Think about it. Right now, thousands of people in Los Angeles are standing in their homes, eyes darting from object to object, making split-second decisions about what deserves a spot in their hastily packed cars. These aren't just decisions about objects – they're declarations of value, revealing hierarchies of meaning we rarely articulate.

The family photos that can't be replaced. The hard drive with twenty years of work. The children's artwork. The family heirloom passed down through generations. The pet supplies. Notice what's not on this list: the expensive watch, the designer clothes, the latest gadgets. In moments of crisis, we instinctively grasp what social scientists have long known – our deepest connections to objects aren't about monetary value, but about their ability to anchor our memories and relationships.

But here's what fascinates me most: Why does it take a disaster to bring this clarity? Why do we spend so much of our lives accumulating things that, when push comes to shove, we'd leave behind without a second thought?

I've spent years helping organizations define their values and mission statements. We craft elaborate frameworks about what matters most. Yet time and again, I've noticed how these carefully constructed priorities can crumble in the face of quarterly reports or market pressures. Perhaps what we need isn't another corporate values exercise, but rather to ask ourselves the fire question: What would you save if you had five minutes to decide?

This morning, as I responded to my friends' texts with immediate "yes, of course" messages, I couldn't help but think about how crises reveal not just our individual priorities, but also the strength of our social fabric. In the face of disaster, artificial boundaries dissolve. Neighbors who barely spoke are suddenly helping each other load cars. Communities mobilize with astounding speed and generosity.

So here's my challenge to you: Don't wait for an evacuation order to think about what truly matters. Take a moment today to walk through your home, your office, your life. What would you take with you? What would pain you to leave behind? More importantly, why?

The answers might surprise you. They might even change how you spend your time and energy tomorrow.

Because while none of us can negotiate with fire, we can learn from its clarifying power. We can let it illuminate what truly matters before we're forced to make those decisions under duress.

For my friends in Los Angeles right now: my door is open. For everyone else: maybe it's time to ask yourself the fire question. Your answer might just change your life before any disaster forces you to.