Packing a Go-Bag: Finding Control in Chaos

Last weekend, as I packed away holiday decorations, I found myself thinking about what I would take if I needed to leave my house in a hurry. I packed a go-bag—a task I hadn’t done since my 20s when I lived in Southern California. Back then, my small earthquake bag stayed in my car, mostly ignored and, thankfully, never used. Fires were less of a threat at the time.

After thirteen years on the East Coast, fire preparedness faded from my mind. That changed in 2021 when the Marshall Fire consumed neighborhoods just miles from where I grew up. Watching from the safety of a beach condo in Hilton Head, I felt a deep ache for friends who lost their homes.

Now, back in Colorado, fire danger feels closer. I’ve seen flames near my mom’s hilltop home and hear the winds howl through the night, rattling windows and nerves. Though I’m fortunate not to be in immediate danger, no one is really okay right now. The unpredictability feels overwhelming.

This weekend, during my daughter’s playdate, I sipped water with a neighbor and shared our mutual ties to Southern California.

“Are your people okay?” we asked, almost in unison.

Thankfully, our people are physically safe. But the emotional toll is undeniable. As we spoke, her phone buzzed—another childhood friend had lost their home. Though I’m not directly affected, my empathetic heart feels the weight.

So, I focus on what I can control.

I choose a medium-sized backpack, something I could carry if my car wasn’t an option. Into it, I pack clothes, a few toys, a beloved stuffed animal for my daughter, important documents, passports, snacks, bandages, and masks. I add my wedding DVD (yes, I still have DVDs) and pregnancy journal. The bag fills too quickly.

I grab a second, smaller backpack. In it go my travel journal, my daughter’s baby book, and a box of cherished Christmas ornaments. The beaded ball with my second-grade photo. Keepsakes from family adventures. These are the treasures I want to hold onto.

It’s humbling how quickly you realize most things can be replaced.

I refresh my car’s emergency supplies, call my estate planning attorney to update our documents for Colorado, and make sure there’s a plan in place for my daughter. I use the drive to school drop-off to remind her where to meet and how to dial 911. It’s reassuring to take these small, actionable steps.

My proximity to those directly impacted by the fires reminds me of the importance of light and joy, even in difficult times. It feels awkward to celebrate amidst sadness, but I push forward.

I sit with the heaviness, do what I can, and send prayers and support where it’s needed most.

Our world is more connected than we often realize. I bet we’re all less than three degrees separated from the devastation in California. If we each focus on nurturing our small corners—sending a thoughtful text, celebrating milestones, or simply showing up—the world can feel a little more bearable.

None of us are entirely okay right now. And maybe that’s okay.

Hug your people, tell them you love them and use this as an opportunity to prepare what you can control.

In times of need, the best thing we can do is show up, messy and imperfect. Community is our most important asset.

For the world needs who we were made to be.