The Quiet Between the Storms

In time, hopefully, both sides of Sunset Boulevard will have stores.

In the aftermath of disaster, there are phases. The first storm that hit Pacific Palisades wasn’t just the fire itself – it was everything that followed in those intense early days: the adrenaline-fueled urgency, the chaos disguised as coordination, the constant hum of action, noise, and necessity.

In the days after the flames died down, we entered a whirlwind. The power was out across vast areas, with the Department of Water and Power racing to restore electricity and water to scorched neighborhoods.

Traffic lights blinked red in eerie unison, creating bottlenecks at intersections manned by LAPD officers, ticketing anyone who dared roll a stop sign. Entry checkpoints were set up on nearly every block, scrutinizing returning residents like scenes from a disaster movie.

And, then came the dump trucks – thousands of them – grinding their way through the narrow Alphabet Streets and canyon roads, hauling away what was once homes, memories, and dreams reduced to ash.

There was noise, urgency, and movement everywhere. But today, something is different.

The lights work again. The police presence has faded. The checkpoints are gone, and for the first time in months, you can drive through the Highlands or Marquez Knolls without being waved through a barricade. The rumble of dump trucks has diminished to the occasional echo. The majority of debris has been cleared, and what remains now is a strange, subdued calm. A silence that doesn't feel like peace, but like waiting.

Make no mistake – this is the quiet between the storms. The fire was the first storm. The second is coming. We’re in the in-between now, a time of deep decisions. Property owners are meeting with architects, interviewing builders, awaiting geotechnical reports, and navigating the maze of permitting. These decisions aren’t made quickly. They’re made at kitchen tables in temporary rentals, with insurance paperwork spread out next to childhood photos pulled from fireproof boxes. They’re made with uncertainty about costs, timelines, and whether to rebuild at all. Some are waiting on structural engineering. Others are wrestling with whether their family will return at all.

Meanwhile, utility crews continue to trench through streets, upgrading water mains, laying underground cables, and restoring vital infrastructure. It’s slow, deliberate work – critical groundwork for what’s ahead. Because what’s coming will be a storm of a different kind.

Soon, foundations will be poured. Cranes will dot the hillsides. Nail guns will replace silence. Dozens, then hundreds of contractors, framers, roofers, electricians, and landscapers will arrive each morning, and by midday the streets will be alive again – not with sirens and flashing lights, but with the sound of rebuilding.

The Palisades will erupt into a new kind of energy: the roar of recovery, the storm of construction. And, through it all, something more powerful than wood and nails will be taking shape – resilience.

Yes, many of us lost everything. Yes, the journey back is long, expensive, and emotional. But from the ashes of this tragedy, a new – town is being born – one rebuilt not just with stronger materials, but with stronger hearts.

This quiet moment, this pause in activity, is not an end. It’s the inhale before the exhale. It’s the space where dreams are redrawn, decisions are made, and hope quietly takes root again.

Soon, Pacific Palisades will rise – not just to what it was, but to what it can become.

And, when that second storm comes, it won’t bring destruction. It will bring renewal.

By Richard Lombari

Lombari has been in real estate sales for over three decades. Richard is an author, speaker, coach, and trainer. To learn more about Richard, visit https://lombarirealestatewealthadvisors.com/about, email

Richard@TheLombariGroup.com, or call 310-903-6509.