As my day was winding down at the office yesterday, I received a call from my best friend. She knows I don’t usually watch the news and was calling to alert me about a wildfire near my home. I immediately checked online to see what was happening. Sure enough, the fire was burning up the hill from where I live.

I took a deep breath, notified my husband and children, subscribed to emergency alerts, and decided to drive home a little early to prepare for a possible evacuation. The fire was only twenty percent contained, and some nearby residents were already under mandatory evacuation orders.

As I worked to clear my head and make sure I was doing the right thing, my first instinct was to connect with my spiritual helpers. I asked them to protect my loved ones and my home. I surrounded everything with extra light and began my drive.

Over the next ten minutes, I started putting together a plan. What was I going to take with me when I arrived home? My daughter had already given me marching orders to grab the pictures. That had to be on the list. Especially the old family photos from my ancestors and the ones of my children growing up. I was also going to take the baby books, the three bronzed baby shoes, my grandfather’s microscope, my dad’s 80th birthday souvenir, my grandma’s forty-year-old sweater, and the contents of the safe with digital pictures and important documents. I would also take my jewelry box. If I had time, I would pack my medications and a few clothes. That was about it.

What if I couldn’t get anything out? Would that matter? At that moment, I felt a lump in my throat. My eyes filled with tears and I was overcome with sadness. All those years of memories, gone. But I kept driving and kept praying. I asked for protection for all the homes in the area and sent my love to the many Californians who had already lost their homes and all their possessions in other fires that week. I stayed grounded by accepting that whatever was ahead was part of my learning.

When I was returning home, I could see the blackened hills and the smell of smoke was overpowering. My eyes and throat were burning from the poor air quality, but I just wanted to go home. Soon after, I arrived. I opened the door and greeted my home, as I usually do, with a big “Hello.” This time I added, “Thank you for being here for us and providing a safe place to live. You rock.”

I walked around the house a little dazed, replaying my mental checklist. Was I on target? Was that really all I needed to take? The answer was yes. And it was probably more than I actually needed.

Through this short scare, here is what I learned. We need very little to get by. And if we take nothing, the memories still live in our heads and in our hearts. We work so hard to accumulate things and convince ourselves they are part of who we are and what we need to survive. But they are just things. When the moment of truth comes, the only real priority is the safety of our loved ones. Everything else is just detail.

Of course, it would have been very painful to lose everything. But then again, I have lost everything before. And I rebuilt. I created a new life that was even more aligned with who I truly am.

Sometimes, in order to start a new chapter in our lives, we need to let go of the old. It does not have to be dramatic or extreme. But we can invite that process in.

Letting go of what no longer serves us allows space for something new and wonderful to emerge.