Peggy Orenstein | New York Times Magazine | Jan. 15, 2010
I didn’t move to California to become a “Californian.” I usually say that I came for a job; the truth is, I was young and in love and I followed a boy. That was 21 years ago, and much to my surprise, I’m still here. The relationship fizzled, but I was seduced by the romance of the state. I’d become a true believer in the California dream, right as it began to fall apart.
California has always been as much a state of mind as a state of the Union. Other places have sunshine. Other places have beaches. Other places even have decent organic produce, or so they say. But California promises something more: transformation. The state is the repository of America’s frontier spirit, the notion that a better life is possible for anyone who wants it, regardless of the circumstances of her birth. You can leave your past at the border and reinvent yourself here — whether as a film director, a high-tech entrepreneur, a Pilates instructor or simply a person who deserves a second chance (though, admittedly, the same mentality has been responsible for an overabundance of cults, serial killers and idiosyncratic drivers).