16 Jan Impossible Goodness
We’re told no one is coming to save us. That life is about survival, about bracing for the worst and figuring it out alone. But that’s not what I see.
When the fires tore through Los Angeles, taking homes and a lifetime of memories with them, what I saw was people saving each other. Again and again.
A first responder cradled a 101-year-old woman in his arms as flames consumed her home, carrying her away from danger when she couldn’t leave on her own.
Firefighters ran into burning homes—not just to extinguish the flames, but to pull out memories that mattered most. Photo albums. A grandfather clock. A wedding dress. A recipe box. The pieces of life that can’t be replaced.
A man with a cowboy hat hitched his trailer to his truck and drove from Colorado to rescue horses too large for their owners to move.
A man sobbed, telling a reporter that his dog was missing, lost in the chaos of the fire. “He’s all I have,” the man cried. Hours later, that same reporter and her team returned after searching, reuniting the man with his dog.
A group of working moms organized an effort to replace cherished stuffed animals and lovies for children who lost theirs in the fires. Parents shared details—well-loved teddy bears, favorite dolls—and volunteers are searching tirelessly for replacements.
People posted photographs online that had blown into their yards—precious memories carried by the wind—to try to return them to their owners.
We save each other, all the time. We show up in the ways we can. A firefighter, arms full of someone’s history. A cowboy, offering his truck and trailer. A hero rescuing a woman who wasn’t physically able to evacuate. A neighbor, holding a photograph and asking, Does this belong to you? A reporter, reuniting a man with his best friend. A group of strangers searching tirelessly for a specific giraffe to replace a child’s beloved stuffed animal named Gerald.
Life is messy and brutal and unfair. But our shared humanity is what makes it bearable. We belong to each other. And even in the worst of times, we prove it—in small, extraordinary ways.
No one is coming to save us? I don’t believe that.
We already have.