Notes From An Unusual Life
Hollywood, Hopelessness, and Why I Think LA Can Be Saved
Notes From An Unusual Life
Hollywood, Hopelessness and Why I Think LA Can Be Saved
I’m on the way back from LA today.
It’s always a strange journey. I leave beautiful Lake Atitlán and the quiet indigenous village I call home, drive across the altiplano, fight my way through the chaos of Guatemala City and a few hours later find myself in Los Angeles. Only one country separates these two worlds, but the contrast couldn’t be more dramatic. The chaos of Guatemala gives way to a different kind of chaos.
This trip was particularly unusual.
I went to the premiere of the short film I acted in. The film was shot at my farm overlooking the lake and, despite the fact that I still can’t bear watching myself on screen, I have to admit that Darren’s directing and Chante Glover’s performance were beautiful.
Afterwards I got my fifteen minutes of fame. I stood on the red carpet, answered questions and accepted compliments from actors and filmmakers, all the while doing my best to return them.
Years ago I would have been intimidated. I would have felt like an imposter surrounded by real artists and beautiful people.
Not this time.
I was there on a mission.
People would ask where the inspiration for the film came from and I would usually answer something like this.
“Well, I’m not really an actor, as you could probably tell from my performance, but I do actually live on that beautiful piece of land overlooking the lake. And it’s dying. Want to help me save it?”
That tends to change the conversation pretty quickly.
People are always surprised to discover that someone can simply decide to try and save a lake. They are even more surprised to discover that maybe they can do something too.
Once the red carpets and bright lights were over, I headed out to the Valley to spend time with my new friends Kelsey and Nick.
Kelsey is a podcaster, author and activist who is obsessed with permaculture and storytelling. Nick is a proper actor, but more importantly he’s a great father and a genuinely lovely guy. Kelsey invited some friends over and asked me to teach a little permaculture while helping with some work around their place.
I had no idea what to expect.
As everyone settled in I asked a question.
“How fucked do you think we are?”
The answer from almost everyone was the same.
“Extremely fucked.”
Honestly, I understand why.
LA is a city of millions. It imports most of its water from hundreds of miles away. It consumes vast amounts of resources. Everyone can feel how fragile it all is. Beneath the beautiful homes and the bright lights there’s a sense that the whole thing could collapse much more easily than people want to admit.
It’s hard to act when you don’t know where to begin. And if I’m honest, rationally speaking, maybe they’re right. But I also know something else. People become creative when they stop being afraid.
And creativity is probably the only thing that will save us. As we talked, the mood shifted.
The conversation moved away from collapse and towards design.
Permaculture, I explained, is really about coming into right relationship with the land, ourselves and each other. Every design begins with two questions.
What do I want?
What does the land want?
The answer is found somewhere in the overlap.
Kelsey and Nick dream of creating a beautiful place where neighbours come together to share food, stories and music around a fire. A place where children can play, friends can gather and community can grow.
So we began asking what the land wanted.
We looked at the sun, the wind and, most importantly, the water.
“What is the one ecological problem that, if solved, would make all the others easier?” I asked.
Nobody knew.
No wonder people feel helpless.
The answer is water.
Southern California can grow figs, citrus, avocados, mulberries, pomegranates and countless other crops. The climate is incredible. The problem isn’t sunlight. The problem is that everyone assumes there isn’t enough water.
Yet every roof collects water. Every shower, sink and washing machine produces water. Every household is literally surrounded by resources it has been taught to think of as waste.
What if cities treated water as an asset instead of a problem?
What if every property became a sponge?
What if every garden became a food forest?
What if neighbourhoods became communities again?
So we designed a garden.
Nothing complicated.
A fire circle surrounded by paths that harvest water. A place for stories and songs. A place where water could infiltrate the soil instead of running away. A place designed not only to grow food, but to grow relationships.
As I laid out the space, I could feel something changing.
People started to see it.
Not just the garden.
The possibility.
Of course, I know how these things usually go.
People are busy.
People are afraid to change.
Most designs never get built.
Unless somebody goes back and helps make it happen.
And I want to.
Because I’m thinking bigger.
Next time I come to LA I want to build one of these projects from start to finish. I want to bring students and builders together. I want to train designers. I want to help people create beautiful spaces that generate food, connection and meaningful work.
Maybe that’s naive.
But I don’t think so.
I think cities like LA are full of intelligent people who are desperate for hope and hungry for practical solutions.
And I think there’s a lot of money to be made helping people create something beautiful.
More importantly, I think there’s a lot of meaning to be found.
Who wants to play?
