The night I turned 16, my birthday cake had the biggest candle of all time: my own house. Yes, the Palisades fire was approaching my house, which then burned down.
I grew up in Pacific Palisades in northeast Los Angeles – a community whose name is derived from a synonym for “fortress.” So the idea that my house could burn down never crossed my mind. And the notion that our entire community could disappear overnight was absurd.
That’s not to say I wasn’t environmentally conscious. I spent my youth hiking through brush and bramble in the unique Mediterranean climate of the Santa Monica… Read More in Real Clear Politics