When Happily Ever After Fails

     I always dreamed of moving to the Palisades. When my husband and I bought our first house in Los Angeles, it was my hope that we'd soon "trade up" to that aspirational 90272 zip code. I imagined us taking our baby daughter to the Sunday farmers market, strolling through the village, Starbucks in hand. It was part of the plan, chapter two of the fairy tale. We'd gotten married at the Bel Air Hotel, a princess-perfect wedding that set the stage for the life I'd always dreamed of.  A beautiful baby daughter, two cars and a dog rounded out the picture soon after.  

     The problem with fairy tales is that they almost always end after that romantic kiss. Happily ever after sounds so easy.  We never read about Cinderella's stressful job that leaves her no time to take care of herself after picking up the kids from school (late, of course), dashing to the orthodontist and parent-teacher conferences, and throwing together some semblance of dinner.  Did Prince Charming stop going to the gym after the wedding? Did Snow White ponder Botox, and did she sometimes wonder if life with Happy and Bashful would have been so much easier?  There's no fairy tale I can think of where the prince and princess finally get a babysitter, and find there's nothing left to talk about at dinner.

No witches or poison spells caused my fairy tale to unravel.  Real life is rarely that cut and dry. When it became clear that my husband and I would soon be leading separate lives, I knew that this was my chance to finally make my own dreams come true; I would rescue myself.  

And so I moved to Malibu, a block from the beach, and steps from the Palisades. A neighborhood where my daughter could walk freely and safely with her friends.  Where there was an amazing Gelson's and that great farmers market. Close to my best friend and her family. And the best zip code around.

But divorce is like childbirth. You hear the horror stories, but you don't quite get it. You're different, you know. It can't be that bad.  Here's what's NOT great about the Palisades when you're no longer a cute couple with a stroller and a toddler:

1.)  restaurants cater to families around here....good luck finding something to eat after 9:00. If you're not a fan of screaming children left unattended while their parents enjoy their dinner, there are several establishments here you should avoid altogether.

2.) There's no nightlife....no bars, no movie theatre, no live music. When I was married, my "nightlife" was a bath and reality tv.  This is not the town where a newly single person can expect to reinvent their social life.

3.) It's hard to be on the outside looking in....Ironically, now that I'm here, I don't "fit in". And I notice how similar most of the people here are. I am acutely aware of being on my own here, without the husband and accoutrements that seem to be the uniform for residents of the Palisades. I no longer drive an SUV, have to stand on the godforsaken line at CVS by myself, and often find myself eating at a table for one. This is very much a town for married people with young children, and my timing for this move was clearly off.

I know very well the sadness and frustration I see in many faces I encounter here. Behind the tinted windows of the SUVs and Prius's I know that many stories similar to mine are unfolding. That dad who's picking up a pizza at Beech Street for his family? He's wondering how the hell his life got away from him. And the woman checking her cell phone while her kids play tag in front of Noah's? She's not going to yoga when her husband gets home...she's meeting her lover behind the parking lot of Village books.

When Sunday night comes around, and it's so quite in my house that I want to scream, when my shopping cart at Gelson's looks so empty compared to the ones clearly belonging to families, when I see husbands buying flowers for their wives, I have to remind myself that I'm somehow going to get through this.

The stories we spin, the pictures we create of ourselves and our neighbors, are never quite what they seem.  Once upon a time, I thought my story was complete. Now I begin to write the sequel, in a little village by the sea. I'm creating a new fairytale for my daughter and for me. And this time I'm going to get it right.