Like a Phoenix Rising
In 2011, Chris left Colorado and moved to NYC in pursuit of a dream. Just starting his career as an Interior Architect and designer, he was living in Union City, New Jersey. He was finally beginning to live his life; he was happy.
Three years passed and at 2:00 in the morning on May 6, 2014, Chris woke up to the jarring sound of his fire alarm. Startled by the explosive warning, he jumped out of bed and quickly attempted to make sense of the chaos. “What is happening?” he wondered to himself as he rushed toward the window. Looking down at the street, his eyes soon caught the orange glow of the fire; the corner bodega was burning.
New York and the Gold Coast of New Jersey are known for their density. Every open space is developed and almost every building is connected. Being an architect and knowing the history of the development in New York and its environs, Chris knew that there were no party walls in his building. Party walls, when properly designed, can help slow and prevent the spread of fire. Today, it’s standard code, but that wasn’t the case when Union City was developed.
Already, Chris could smell the smoke seeping in through the shared air duct system. Quickly, he grabbed a bag, threw in a few essentials and then ran down the stairs to the street. From the ground floor, he could see units 2 and 3 already in flames. He lived in unit 5 and he inherently knew the inevitable truth; like the Great Fires of London and Chicago and New York, soon his apartment and everything in it would burn into oblivion.
Like the clock that burned, never to tell time again, hours passed in what was a haze of confusion and uncertainty. At some point in the morning, the Red Cross came and picked up all the tenants who had congregated on the streets, watching in horror as their lives were incinerated. They were taken to a local hotel where they were given temporary lodging.
The following morning, after the fire department had put out the fire, Chris returned to his street and saw the black scars of burns, dripping in water. He drew a map of his apartment and approached a firefighter, asking him to see if his safe was salvageable. Cautioning Chris, the firefighter agreed to go and search, but made no promises. Twenty minutes later, the firefighter returned with Chris’ fireproof safe, containing all his essential documents. Everything else had burned beyond recognition.
Three years following a dream and building a life and overnight, all Chris was left with was his social security card, his birth certificate, and one small duffel bag of belongings.
Speaking with Chris on the phone, he said, “Adrenaline is such a powerful force. For weeks, I kept running on empty, powered by that adrenaline. It wasn’t until the smoke had cleared (pun intended) that I finally took a breath and realized the trauma I had endured and the grief I was about to experience as I processed the totality of my loss.”
This is the death of the hero, the destruction of the life that once was. When your life is reduced to a duffel bag and a few slips of paper, one cannot help but ask profound questions. “What do I do now? Do I stay in NYC? Do I go home to Colorado? How do I make sense of this chaos? Where do I restart? How? Why?”
Thankfully, Chris had renter’s insurance and that covered his temporary housing and provided some finances to buy new clothes and essentials. But pause for a minute. Think of all the things, the “stuff” we accumulate throughout our lives. How does one go about rebuilding a life from scratch?
There were days when Chris was bitter and mad and there were days when Chris was simply sad. So much was lost. Among the other displaced tenants, Chris knew a Russian exchange student who lived a couple floors below him. The student was young and alone in a foreign country. Though Chris struggled with his own loss, he began to find purpose in helping his friend through the shared crisis and grief.
In taking care of his friend, Chris made a decision. Recounting his experience to me today, Chris said, “Yes, I lost everything, but I saw that moment as a chance to rebuild symbolically. I wanted my life to have meaning. I wanted my things to have meaning.”
At a crossroads between hope and despair, Chris chose hope. Helping his Russian friend, he began to see how he could use his gifts, his possessions, his finances, and his spirit to serve others. In some ways, Chris was “lucky” to have experienced such significant loss at such a young age for he is now able to live the rest of his life with perspective, understanding the false promises of materialism and consumerism. The fire burned the illusions and suddenly, life seemed clearer.
With this perspective, Chris started a journey towards more authentic living. Soon after the fire, he began the process of coming out and learning to integrate his sexuality with his faith. “If not now, when?” he thought to himself.
Yes, he had lost everything, but he still had a job, a community of friends, and a life in NYC. He wasn’t defined by the material goods in his life. He transcended the confines of physical matter and like a phoenix rising from the ashes, Chris began a beautiful journey of living with intention and purpose.
Today, Chris is a generous soul who laughs loud and loves hard. He has been with his boyfriend, Ben, for more than three years and they are preparing to move in together in Manhattan in fall 2024. He is intentional and appreciates each moment in each day. Even something as simple as making dinner for Ben on a regular weeknight, Chris thinks about how to make that moment special, to make the moment matter.
Joking about finances and the cost of New York City, Chris says, “I want to be dinner-party rich! I want to serve others, to not place a burden on them, but to create a space where they can come and be a part of a community, where there is wine and food aplenty. I want to be generous with my things. That’s my legacy. I’ve lost everything once, so I know it has no value aside from how I can use it to serve others. Nothing goes with me when I’m gone, so I want to give abundantly in this life.”
Reflecting today, Chris wrote: “Ten years ago today I woke up to my block on fire; starting with the Bodega on the corner. This fire was a turning point not only in my life, but a marker for fresh things to come. This fire burned the last remains of much in my life, and from it so much more grew.”
Would that we all be “fortunate” enough to have a fire burn the illusions of our lives, making way for something new, allowing us to see with such clarity the value of life itself, the value of every moment we are given and the value of service and love towards others. Would that we all be “dinner-party rich!”