I’ve read a lot of essays and parts of novels that talk about what to take in a fire. Most people forget everything and grab something they don’t really care about, especially when they have only seconds to decide. It’s an interesting experiment in my head to think about whether or not I need anything. I want about one-tenth to one-hundredth of what I have, but I don’t know how much I need.
Are photos actual memories, or do the memories live inside of us? A lot of people digitize their photos, but it doesn’t feel the same to me. Digitizing photos of my great-grandparents seems like a crashing of worlds I am not interested in. I still have a lot of photos in photo albums. The kind that eventually lose their mild stickiness and release all of the photos to the bottom of the page under the weak cellophane. I wonder why I put the photos in this order, or why my mom or grandmother did. This, in and of itself, means I don’t need to take these in case of a fire.
Humans are an easy choice. My kids are no longer underneath the same roof as me, so it’s cats and a guinea pig first, without question. I really like my sleek black-on-black toothbrushes, but I can just get another two-pack at CVS after the fire. I don’t need my laptop, but I would probably take it even though I have a second desktop at work. That seems almost modern tragic to take a laptop over photo albums. I don’t think I would grab my Whoop charger, but their shipping is slow, and I probably have decent strain to monitor during this free-for-all.
What would I miss that I couldn’t get again? Art. I have so much art and would have to prioritize my favorites, which would be pretty easy at first thought. It seems I have an exit plan for my art. Books are replaceable. Collectibles? I have a lot of baseball cards, a decent amount of comics, and some coins. I wish I knew where they all were right now, because I don’t think I'll have time to scavenge. This is harder than it might seem. I definitely do not need those salt and pepper shakers I got for her.
I watched posts of people I quasi-knew who lost their homes in the Malibu fires, and they all said similar things. They just got out. There was not enough time to make those decisions. Life or death really means life or death. You can’t wear your favorite T-shirt if you perish in a fire. Grab the pets, leave the supplements.
I sometimes think that if I lost all my stuff in a fire, besides my pets, it would feel like a clean reset. I know it is a middling thought because of all the mementos and having to deal with an insurance company that tries to screw you over at every turn, but I have still thought about it. When I play online games, I often reset the whole world before I ever finish, just to start over.
I can’t take my dining table, which was once a door in my Sarasota art gallery. I hate my living room couch, so that can gladly get incinerated. My old dress shirts and anything that mildly resembles traditional business attire can be fed as kindling. I’m scanning my house in my head and don’t need any of it. I know I would miss some stuff, but my kids are unlikely to ever want their first macaroni art. In case of a fire, I’ve decided that the safety of the breathing creatures is all that matters. I can’t keep plants alive anyway.
© Jonathan Greene, November 10, 2026
