This Year Broke Me Open - Happy 41st Birthday to Me
My 40th year on this Earth didn’t just challenge me - it broke me open.
I thought I had already seen enough tragedy for one lifetime.
Hurricane Sandy.
Losing my stepdad.
Moments that carved permanent marks on my life.
But nothing prepared me for the night my community - the place I love, the place my children are growing up - went up in flames.
Not “a fire nearby.” Not “evacuate just in case.”
I mean our entire town burning right in front of our eyes.
Including my daughter’s preschool. The school we loved. The place where we made some of the happiest memories of her early years.
We never thought the fire would reach our block. We were wrong.
One of the Last Families to Leave
That night still replays in my mind like a movie I never asked to star in. The sky shifted from yellow to orange to something darker. Ash began falling like black snow.
I looked out the window and felt a knot tighten in my chest. At the very last minute, we packed the car.
My wife - nine months pregnant - and I grabbed what we could in minutes, not hours. A few bags. A couple essentials. The dog. Then we got in the car and tried to escape down a narrow hill road already jammed with families doing the same.
And here’s the truth: It was a total shit show.
Nothing organized.
No clear direction.
People panicking.
Cars stuck.
Families running out on foot.
No one knowing if the fire was 10 minutes away or 10 seconds away.
And in the middle of the chaos, we saw something that stopped us cold:
Older people in wheelchairs, trying to get down the hill by themselves - in the smoke, in the heat, in the confusion.
There was no way we were leaving them there.
We pulled over, jumped out, and helped lift them into our car.
Instinct. Humanity. Doing what you’d hope someone would do for your own family.
And while all this was happening, there was Juan - my homie and our part time night security around our house who refused to leave our neighborhood. I hired Juan right after our house got robbed 3 months earlier, he is like a brother to me.
We got out. Barely.
I dropped my pregnant wife and daughter at our family’s house. And then something in me snapped.
Taking Care of the First Responders
I’m a veteran of natural disasters - Hurricane Sandy taught me how fast things collapse and how communities survive only when people step up.
It’s simple: We have to take care of the firefighters. The men and women running into hell while everyone else runs out.
Once my family was safe, I started calling every local fire station I could reach, asking what they needed and how we could help.
That’s when Captain Brown from the Palisades Fire Department answered.
Calm voice.
He told me they desperately needed a generator.
And the truth is… if they didn’t get one in time, we would’ve lost the firehouse.
That firehouse is the backbone of our community.
So I went into action.
I hit up my buddy Dylan from Riot Games in our WhatsApp group: “We need a generator. Now.”
No hesitation.
Within minutes, he found one. Within hours, Captain Brown had it.
That generator kept the firehouse alive.
But it didn’t stop there.
When the crews came off the fire lines - exhausted, covered in ash, shaking from everything they’d seen - they needed food.
My wife deserves most of the credit here. Nine months pregnant, drained, emotional, but steady. She organized food trucks for the firefighters, making sure every person stepping off those lines had something warm to eat.
And while she was handling that, I found myself doing something I still can’t fully explain…
Driving Back Into the Fire
I negotiated my way back into the fire zones.
Cutting through dark side streets. Back roads. Closed roads.
Whatever scary f**king route would get me back to our block, I took it.
Looking back, it wasn’t heroic.
It wasn’t smart.
It was instinct.
It was fear.
It was adrenaline.
It was responsibility.
All tangled together.
But that night taught me something I’ll never forget:
When everything is burning, you find out who you really are.
And part of who I am - for better or worse - is someone who feels responsible for the people he loves.
I felt personally responsible for Juan’s safety.
I wasn’t going to let anything happen to him. Juan and to lesser credit me, would end up saving half our block by taking water pails from our pool and putting out fires all over our block. I would be in the Palisades every day bringing Juan supplies - deep down I feel awful that we couldn’t save more houses.
The Aftermath No One Sees
Fast forward, the next six months weren’t cinematic. They were quiet. Heavy. Hard.
I stepped in as CEO of a marketing agency while trying to heal from a brutal combination of:
OCD
depression
and a touch of PTSD
Some days I felt okay. Some days I felt like I was going to break. And some days… I did.
I’m still healing.
Still processing.
Still learning that surviving and living are two different things.
Turning 41
As I enter 41, I’m done pretending life is guaranteed.
My goals are simple now - but deeper than ever:
1. Get closer to God.
To trust more.
To surrender more.
To listen instead of forcing outcomes.
2. Help as many people as possible reach their career goals.
Because I know what it feels like to struggle in silence.
3. Be the best dad I can be to my two incredible girls.
To give them safety, love, presence, and memories that last.
4. Be the best husband I can be.
To show up every day with intention, patience, appreciation, and love.
Life Is Short. Time Is Not Promised. And none of this is guaranteed.
