What the Fire Couldn't Take
A Story of Love, Leadership, and the Quiet Strength of Surrender
I met Rachel in college and it was BFF love at first sight.
She was stunning in all the ways—hysterical, wicked smart and confident, without a trace of condescension.
She was the first person I’d ever met who knew exactly what she wanted.
Even before we graduated, she had paved her path to success in commercial real estate—found mentors, worked every room, expanded her network, set her sights high, and then soared.
She didn’t just work in the industry—she lit it up.
Whenever I came to visit her in LA she would pick me up at the airport and I would listen to her masterfully align renegade brokers, visionary restauranteurs, shady contractors, and everyone else involved in the orchestra of the deal.
99% of which, at least as far as I could tell, were men…
I listened to her slay every conversation—cool, concise, unshakeably direct, but always playful.
She could call bullshit in any room—and still have everyone wanting to play together by the end.
She could predict behaviors and motives instantly and negotiate like some kind of wizard.
For years, I watched her expand in ways that inspired my own evolution, as she kept taking big risks—leaving jobs others would kill for, ending relationships that looked perfect from the outside, and refusing to settle for anything that wasn’t it.
The deeper calling wasn’t about status or success, but about her devotion to the quality of love, beauty and meaningful contribution that defined her at the core.
That devotion guided every major choice she made in the years that followed.
She became a mother. Started her own business. Stepped in as caregiver for her parents. Married a powerhouse of a human. Built an epic home. Became a mother again, and designed a life she truly loved.
She was the one everyone turned to—at home, at work, in every crisis and in-between moment. From the outside, her capacity seemed limitless.
But what most never saw was the weight of it—the silent cost of being the strong one.
And then – the fires came.
She watched her entire community burn to the ground.
She spent night after night wondering if her husband was alive, if anything they had built as a family was still standing.
She wrote to me…
“Time stands still and the outside world knocks on our door to rejoin. But the nightmare is still fresh and I begin to realize that the trauma hasn’t peaked. We are desperate to go back. Back to our homes, beds, neighbors and routines, all no longer there in the same way they were. The so-called-plans we make to feel better about the situation haven’t traveled the bridge between what is and what will be. The meager attempt to forecast any future leaves me unsteady and unsure, forcing me yet again to live in the immediate, hollowed-out present.
I’ve never needed to ask for help like I have in recent days. It turns out that learning how to ask—and truly receive—is one of life’s greatest gifts: a true act of vulnerability and strength, gratitude in its rawest form.”
The fires marked a threshold—a rupture that revealed what could no longer be carried alone. What most never saw was that the softening had actually begun long before. Like rock being shaped by the tide, her edges were worn over years of navigating divorce, the loss of pregnancies, and a body that finally refused to sacrifice itself to the hustle.
By the time the fire came, what prepared her wasn’t strength in the way the world often defines it—but the kind of strength born from vulnerability. From knowing, deeply, that survival sometimes asks us not to do more, but to let go. To surrender to being held when holding it all is no longer possible.
It is a transformation still unfolding, and I remain in awe of the woman she continues to become—one who now embodies leadership in ways I’ve struggled to articulate until witnessing her journey.
Today, she is humble, grateful, grounded in what truly matters, and discerning with her precious energy.
The hustle no longer ignites her. Instead, she channels her inner fire to create a future for her children, advocate for her community, and foster the healing needed in every direction.
The one common thread I’ve found among the most prolific leaders is their capacity for perspective—one that only became accessible through the breakdowns, heartbreaks, and the tragedies of the human experience.
These are the ones who lead with their hearts as well as their brilliant minds.
They transform adversity into opportunity, remind us of our resilience, and lay the foundation for a future shaped by courage, compassion, and purpose.