Restoration Generation: A Love Letter to Not Burning Down (Again)

Listen, fire and I have history. When I was two, it burned our historic Geneva Hotel home to the ground—which is a very dramatic way to kickstart someone's origin story. Fire is basically that unpredictable friend who shows up unannounced, completely rearranges your life by setting everything ablaze, then leaves a note saying "Let's do this again sometime!" Spoiler alert: Fire always keeps its promises. It's the only friend with a 100% track record of follow-through.

So when Los Angeles looked at 484 incinerated homes in 1961 and said, "Okay, we've learned something here. Let's fix this," I feel that. They wrote laws, updated building codes, threw press conferences. The intention was beautiful. Flash forward to 2025: 18,000 homes gone, 57,000 acres transformed into charcoal. It's not that LA didn't try—it's that they didn't keep learning, adapting, and listening to their communities. They treated the solution like a one-and-done deal instead of an ongoing conversation.

Here's the exciting part, Chicago, Baltimore, Atlanta, Phoenix, Tucson, Dallas, St. Louis, Indianapolis, Nashville, Louisville, and San Diego: We get to learn from this! We're all living in this climate-changed world together—not the fancy Bel Air zip code, but the very real space where we acknowledge challenges and actually build solutions as one united team.

Your city might not have Santa Ana winds, but you've got your own opportunities for innovation. Phoenix and Tucson, you're pioneering urban heat resilience in real-time. Dallas, you're figuring out how cities adapt to longer, hotter summers. St. Louis and Indianapolis, you're developing new models for storm management. Nashville and Louisville, you're redefining what flood preparedness looks like. Baltimore, Atlanta, and San Diego, you're reimagining infrastructure for climate futures. This isn't someone else's problem—it's everyone's opportunity to lead.

The good news? We actually know what works. We've got climate scientists, community organizers, urban planners, and residents with lived experience ready to collaborate. We've got cities worldwide—Tokyo with its incredible drainage systems, the Netherlands with its water management genius—showing us what's possible when we put people first and embrace diverse perspectives.

Here's what real climate resilience looks like, and it's actually inspiring: It's communities coming together. It's neighbors who've lived through floods sharing knowledge with city planners. It's grant writers (unsung heroes!) partnering with residents who know their neighborhoods intimately. It's recognizing that the person who's lived on the same block for forty years has expertise that no consultant report can match. It's addressing barriers to equitable outcomes—because climate disasters always hit vulnerable communities hardest, and that's not acceptable.

We put people first. Real resilience isn't about perfect buildings; it's about thriving communities who can weather storms together (literally and figuratively). It's about ensuring every neighborhood has resources, not just wealthy ones.

We inspire and support each other as one united team. Cities don't have to figure this out alone. When San Diego develops a wildfire early-warning system, Louisville can adapt it for floods. When Phoenix cracks the code on cooling centers, Atlanta benefits. We're in this together.

We embrace diversity in order to excel. The best climate solutions come from bringing everyone to the table—different ages, backgrounds, neighborhoods, expertise. Grandma who's lived through six hurricanes has wisdom. The new immigrant who survived floods overseas has perspective. The teenager who understands social media can help spread preparedness information. Diversity isn't just nice; it's how we survive.

We make an impact and get results. This isn't about endless committee meetings. It's about taking action informed by evidence and community needs. It's about testing solutions, learning fast, adapting faster. It's about delivering real outcomes—like Tokyo did, like the Netherlands did, like hundreds of cities worldwide are doing right now.

We are dynamic, innovative, and ambitious. The climate won't wait, so neither can we. But here's the thing: We get to be creative about this! We get to design cities that are better than what we had before. We get to build systems that actually work for everyone. We get to influence partners, inspire change, and prove that ambitious goals are achievable.

The brutal truth? Your city's moment is coming. Not might come—is coming. Whether it's fire, flood, heat, or some exciting new challenge, it's approaching. And when it arrives, you'll have two choices: pull out the playbook you developed now with your diverse, united community, or scramble to respond without preparation.

I've had my house burn down. I don't recommend the experience. But I do recommend this: building something better together before the next crisis hits. Not out of fear, but out of love for our cities and each other.

The next disaster isn't hypothetical. It's not even on the way.

It's already here in some form.

And we have everything we need—the people, the knowledge, the tools, the ambition—to meet it together and come out stronger.

Let's build the future our cities deserve. Starting now. Starting together. Let's Be Better Ancestors: can we just care for each other?