Happy Hour

This morning’s drink: Coffee.

There’s something interesting about being in the middle of the San Diego fires and being completely safe. A lot of the people I work with were evacuated yesterday, or at least on standby, yet I live close enough to downtown and the coastline that I’m pretty much in 0% danger. Obviously, this is a good thing, especially since I’ve already moved my apartment three times in the last month, but I found that I was almost embarrassed to say where I lived. I listened to the radio all day anxiously, but it was almost like I didn’t have the right. The anxiety swirling around this place is almost off-limits, and my opportunities to empathize are very limited.

At the most, I can share the inconvenience of smoke inhalation with everyone around here, and the most I can do to contribute my good fortune is to donate my money to the cause. However, the fires haven’t made me suddenly more prosperous, and I can’t really volunteer because I’m expected at work (since I don’t have to evacuate), and they want all “non-essential” people off the roads. I’m thinking I’ll go donate blood today, because they’re asking for extra donations, but even that feels so menial.

I feel so sad for these people who have lost their homes - from the incredibly rich people of Rancho Santa Fe to the suburbians of Poway. But how will my one pint of blood start to ease their pain? They’ve said that even people to listen can help by acting as make-shift shrinks. Still, why would someone want to spill their sorrows on the lucky girl who dodged the bullet? If I’m getting scorn at work for being so safe, how are these strangers going to take me?

I feel like I’m in sort of a funny place. I guess I should just ignore what everyone else thinks and move my little golden child self to go out and help. Although San Diego is all about taking care of number one, the people here are amazing when all the number ones are threatened. In the end, to be able to participate in the good of SD is probably a much rarer event.