Growing Up in Neverland
When I started this column, I knew essentially what I wanted to do.
For new endeavors, what you want to do is largely defined by what you can do. And for me, that meant speaking to, about, and for Montecito’s young alumni.
Along the way, I learned that good newspapers strike a balance between the news and the olds, as it were. With support from readers and friends, the Dear Montecito column has been defined by the new generation reflecting on the past. In pursuing this goal, a curious if rather predictable theme popped up. There’s no place like home. There’s no place like Montecito.
Considering myself something of an arm-chair detective, I wondered: What makes this place so special? What is this feeling we seem to experience when we return home?
There were many possible culprits. We have good food, good weather, and good company. Our town is a highly coveted getaway spot, whether that means a work-break vacation or a permanent pilgrimage out of L.A. Our easy beach access and boutique organization are traits that make Montecito unique. But it is more than this. It is also true that for young people, anywhere that is home feels like Neverland.
In many ways, growing up is something that happens away from home. It happens when we leave the nest and strike out a new place for ourselves. Returning home is remembering our childhood and reuniting with people who knew an old version of us. I think we hear time and again in this column how special Montecito is because this town’s unique qualities intensify the feeling of returning to Neverland.
We are reminded of this especially during the summer when empty nesters are brought together with children and grandchildren and our favorite local teachers have more time to enjoy the community they are a part of. But between the familiar faces and the leaves that never change color, Montecito represents a little pocket of time, a place of stability and consistency for many of its young alumni.
But to say nothing changes here wouldn’t be accurate. Both the landscape and culture have changed dramatically since my time at MUS. Whether the influx of celebrities who want their own slice of Neverland – it’s almost cheaper than Botox, after all – or the political tidal waves that ripple into our small community, we are more than familiar with all that has changed.
In honor of graduation season and in honor of Dear Montecito’s two-year anniversary, I have been reflecting on what the idea of change means for this column. What I have observed is the Neverland effect. Our identities cannot keep up with how fast we grow. Kindergarteners think that middle school students are old. And middle school students think that high schoolers are old. As of this summer, most of my friends have graduated college. Yet, many of us still think of ourselves as the youngest generation. This is the Neverland effect. A classic case of the new olds still thinking they are the news – while becoming increasingly anxious that they are, in fact, old news.
I cannot resist that egregious little pun any more than I can turn back the clock, so before I become entirely uninhibited, I must sign off.
Until next time,
Stella
