LA Wildfire Update: One Month Later
Dear Friends,
It has been one month and one day since my family evacuated our home in Altadena, California. That night, we had dinner in the oven, a load of laundry in the washer, and the dogs had just been fed—just a typical Tuesday evening. Then, I stepped outside to tidy up some patio furniture being tossed around by the wind, and that’s when I saw the orange glow at the end of our street. Everything from that moment on is still a bit of a blur.
Initially, I wondered if these were a few melted trumpets. Turns out, it was part of my grill that used to reside on the deck above my studio.
While I didn’t immediately believe our house was going to burn down, I knew we had to leave—immediately. My phone started lighting up with evacuation notices, confirming that urgency. We grabbed what we could and spent the night at a colleague’s home a few cities west. But by 5 AM, we were evacuating again. That same orange glow was now visible from the end of that street too.
By mid-morning, we were on the road to Anaheim, an hour south of Los Angeles, trying to stay ahead of the fire. The sky was black. The sun barely pierced through the thick, falling ash. Then came the phone call from a neighbor—someone who was crazy enough to hike back up our street while the fire was still raging.
I will never forget his words: "Your house is gone." I made him repeat it eight times before it sank in. And then, it became my job to tell my family.
Fast-forward to today—though, honestly, it feels like three years have passed—and despite everything, I have to say that I feel incredibly lucky.
Because of that early alert from my neighbor, we were able to get ahead of the crisis. We initiated insurance claims immediately, contacted FEMA, found a long-term rental while we rebuild, and, perhaps most importantly, started the process of mentally piecing everything together. My extended family snapped into action, forming task forces to handle the overwhelming logistics—each person taking on different aspects of what needed to be done next.
I can’t express enough the depth of gratitude I feel for my colleagues, friends, family, and even complete strangers who reached out to offer help and support. The generosity and kindness I’ve experienced in the past month will stay with me forever.
So, here’s the update from Honesty Pill Mission Control, which, for the foreseeable future, I’ll be calling Studio B—until we can return home.
I’m exhausted, but I’m ready to work again. Every day, there are at least 20 things left undone, but my perspective has shifted. I now have a visceral understanding of what truly matters.
Perfection and possessions don’t matter—people do. My instruments don’t matter. Clothes, books, devices, trinkets, just don’t matter. In the end, my house really didn’t matter either. (Although it was a REALLY good house.)
Deep gratitude to artist Lauren Louka of Homes In Memoriam: LA Fires 2025 for this beautiful sketch of our home at 950 Alta Pine. Your work honors not just the places we’ve lost, but the memories and love that remain. Thank you for this incredible gift.
What matters is the people and energy I choose to align myself with daily. And wow, has this been a reminder of how much good exists in the world—even when it seems like everything is falling apart every time I turn on the news. There is so much goodness, strength, and light available to us if we choose to tap into it.
To that end and in the spirit of service, I’m excited to share what’s next from Honesty Pill Coaching. Next month, I’m launching a free community designed to support musicians in growth, stability, and evolution. This will be a space for connection, resilience, and shared progress. As a subscriber, I’d love for you to be a key part of building this community.
The thing that has given me the most strength this past month has been my community. And my desire to grow that community has never been stronger.
I'd like to share a passage from Deepak Chopra’s The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success that speaks to the transient nature of everything around us—including our own existence. In the face of loss and change, it has been a powerful reminder of what truly matters, and I hope you find it just as inspiring and grounding.
“We are travelers on a cosmic journey — stardust, swirling and dancing in the eddies and whirlpools of infinity. Life is eternal. But the expressions of life are ephemeral, momentary, transient.
Gautama Buddha, the founder of Buddhism, once said, This existence of ours is as transient as autumn clouds. To watch the birth and death of beings is like looking at the movements of a dance. A lifetime is like a flash of lightning in the sky, Rushing by like a torrent down a steep mountain.
We have stopped for a moment to encounter each other, to meet, to love, to share. This is a precious moment, but it is transient. It is a little parenthesis in eternity. If we share with caring, lightheartedness, and love, we will create abundance and joy for each other.
And then this moment will have been worthwhile.”
I hope this passage bring you the same inspiration and support it has given me.
With gratitude,
Chris
