There was a stretch of days when the world felt heavy with smoke and urgency, and without much announcement, I slipped away to Los Angeles.

No spotlight, no big declaration, just a quiet pull to be useful.

I found my place with World Central Kitchen, José Andrés’ living, breathing answer to chaos, where food becomes immediate care. In borrowed kitchens and makeshift spaces, I did what I know how to do best. I hugged. And I cooked. Simple things, steady things. Meals that didn’t try to impress, just to comfort.

Plates passed into the hands of first responders carrying exhaustion in their eyes and soot on their sleeves. No long conversations, no need for recognition, just a nod, a thank you, sometimes a brief pause where you could feel the weight lift, even if only for a moment.

There’s a kind of peace that doesn’t ask to be noticed. It just shows up, hot and ready, exactly when it’s needed.

It wasn’t grand. It wasn’t loud. But it was real.

In the middle of chaos, peace lived in those small exchanges, in service, in presence, in choosing to care without needing to be seen.

And maybe that’s how it multiplies.

In the middle of the smoke, we fed people. And to me, that felt like peace.