I live in a neighborhood.
I hadn’t thought much of it until a few years ago, when my friend’s mom gave me a ride home and oddly remarked, “Oh, this is cute. I used to live in a neighborhood.” Not exactly sure of what I was supposed to draw from that statement, I nodded and smiled politely, leaving her under the impression that I completely understood what she was trying to say, which ended the conversation right there.
But through the years, I’ve begun to make sense of her point: Santa Barbara doesn’t have neighborhoods – it has zip codes. In fact, there are three divisions that make up the Santa Barbara area: Montecito, Santa Barbara, and Goleta. (Carpinteria is usually forgotten about.)
Those who live in the 805 don’t typically have “neighbors.” At the most, we have carpool buddies and dinner guests, but neighborhoods buzzing with block parties, welcoming committees, and kids running around on the street are just not that typical. Not to say they don’t exist, but let’s be honest, it’s hard to get to know your neighbors and become a part of a concrete community when most of the people around you are either tourists or transients.

I think that’s why I have a new-found appreciation for the good old-fashioned potluck. Regardless of the occasion, there’s something calming about assembling with people with whom you share at least one thing in common (hence the reason why you were all invited to the same potluck, unless you’re a potluck-crasher, in which case I’d assume you have bigger issues to worry about).
The simple act of creating or conjuring up a savory dish or baked good and contributing to an event that is based solely on trust is refreshing. I find hope knowing that despite all the uncertainty and pressure we face everyday, people are still willing to be a part of a gathering that could not happen with their help, but doesn’t guarantee that the rest of those involved will play their part.
At my class’s end-of-the-year celebration yesterday, I was reminded of the extent to which a successful potluck can make a person feel noticed, cared for, and appreciated. Although we had to seek the assistance of the pizza delivery guy whose impromptu contribution compensated for our lack of a sufficient amount of food, everything came together quite nicely. Pretty soon, we were all reflecting on memories of the past year and envisioning the promise of the years to come, all the while noting just how much we have grown into a family by allowing ourselves to depend on one another.
And while it can be difficult to become a part of a community in which people tend to drift in and out, sometimes all it takes is some nostalgic dialogue and a few bowls of pasta.