In my last column, “Shopping Like It’s 1966” about deciding what to wear for my 60th high school reunion, I said I might follow it with a post-reunion write-up — depending on how things went.

Having survived the event relatively unscathed, I thought I’d offer a snapshot of my experience.

For my columns, I try to work in some relevance to Santa Barbara, and while I haven’t quite met that goal here, I figure folks in every city and town in America have class reunions, so any Santa Barbara residents who are 10 years or more beyond their high school years can probably relate.

The day before the reunion, I flew to Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport on United Airlines’ new once daily direct flight from Santa Barbara (there’s that local angle).

One of my extremely generous classmates, who owns a big Windy City taxi company, had offered free fares to reunion attendees, both to and from the airport and wherever else we might want to go over the weekend. I was thrilled to take him up on that.

My “personal driver,” an affable man named Michael, picked me up at ORD and drove me to my friend’s condo in Wilmette, about 45 minutes away. The next evening, Michael shuttled me and two classmates to the reunion, and even waited there to take us home.

I could get used to this kind of service.

The New Trier High reunion was at the Indian Hill Club in a particularly well-heeled neighborhood on Chicago’s North Shore.

Directed toward an address that wasn’t quite accurate, Michael followed two different GPS apps along winding roads, past impressive mansions with manicured lawns, only to end up on the wrong side of an electric security gate that, if it was open, revealed the entryway to the reunion venue.

No one seemed to be around to unlock the heavy black fence for us, so after a lot of head-scratching and hand-wringing by driver and passengers, I climbed out of the way back of the minivan, shoved aside some thick bushes that abutted the gate and tiptoed in my strappy sandals onto a wet golf course to look for help.

A nice young man, who said he was “interning at the club” (working on a bachelor’s degree in Country Club Science? — I didn’t ask), came to my rescue. Of course, by the time we got back to the van, someone had already unlocked the gate.

From a class of 1,100 and change, just more than 100 people were in attendance, milling around, drinks in hand, scanning people’s faces and squinting at name tags in an effort to spot familiar classmates.

I was mainly interested in reconnecting with people from Central School (my elementary school), especially friends from my old neighborhood.

Regrettably, I only found one, Jerry, but he and I recognized one another right away and enjoyed a nostalgic chat, exchanging whatever information each of us had about the “old gang.”

We lamented the deaths of some dear friends, and marveled at the fact that Jerry’s mother had lived to be 102.

To help spur our memories, Brian, another primary school classmate, had meticulously archived a treasure trove of historic material, including yearbooks, school newspapers and class photos that were displayed on a long folding table, attracting a lot of appreciative attention.

Brian had even gone so far as to list students’ names and reference on what page they could be found in the various publications.

Not surprisingly, Brian is a college mathematics professor now, and if memory serves me, he was “that kid” who gave the daily weather report at Central School.

Further demonstrating his attention to detail, at a brunch gathering the day after the reunion, Brian told me he belongs to an elite group of people who have visited every one of the 3,143 counties in the United States. You can check out his story here.

As cool as his county conquest is, Brian is one of numerous New Trier grads who have had their 15 minutes (and more) of fame.

In our class of 1966, one of the most recognizable names is lawyer-turned-writer Scott Turow, author of best-selling legal thrillers, including “Presumed Innocent” and “Burden of Proof,” several of which were adapted for film or television, and starred famous actors.

I can’t say I ever hung out with Turow in high school, nor did I chat with him at the reunion, but we were both there, so I’ll claim bragging rights to a couple of degrees of separation. I have read several of his books, too.

Another ’66 alum was Academy Award nominee Penelope Milford, who sadly passed away last year. Milford was up for an Oscar in 1978 for her role in the film “Coming Home,” starring Jane Fonda.

Again, I didn’t travel in the same circles as Penny, but I knew her well enough to say “hi” to her in the hallways.

Our class also can claim the late Ina Jaffe, an iconic storyteller for National Public Radio. A theater kid at New Trier, what I remember about Ina was her small stature, big personality and striking red hair.

As part of the reunion weekend activities, a tour of the high school was offered; I wasn’t planning on participating, but a classmate talked me into going, and it did not disappoint.

A school administrator and several students guided the group of alums through the hallowed halls, pointing out major changes that have been made in recent years.

The wow factor was on full display, particularly in the athletics department that now boasts a huge climbing wall; a massive indoor track, complete with fake grass in the center; a brand-new gymnasium; an upgraded swimming pool; and a weight conditioning room that rivals that of any upscale commercial workout facility.

Trying not to be too cheeky, I actually asked our tour leader if a person needed a membership to use the fancy equipment.

Apparently it’s not open to the general public, with some exceptions for adult education students.

Moving on to the Applied Arts wing, vintage-style lamp posts display green-and-white street signs pointing to places such as Woodworking Way, Architecture Blvd., Automotive Road and Culinary Lane.

Community college might be a more accurate description than high school for this 125-year-old institute of learning.

Another eye-popping part of the school tour was the Honor Wall, where dozens of wood plaques pay tribute to the still living NT grads who have achieved distinction in their field.

They range from Hollywood types such as Ann-Margret, Bruce Dern and Rainn Wilson (“The Office”); to business leaders Christie Hefner (yes, that Hefner), and cosmetics mogul Bobbi Brown; to politicians on both sides of the aisle, including former Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld and former Chicago Mayor Rahm Emanuel, who served as White House chief of staff for President Barack Obama.

I won’t bore you with the rest, but that wall of movers and shakers is enough to render the biggest name-dropper speechless.

Yes, there are a lot of illustrious alums, but most of us plodded through those four formative years going to class, complaining about homework, hanging with friends, trying to fit in, cheering at football games and hoping — in an exceedingly competitive academic environment — to graduate with decent enough grades to get into a good college.

As we strolled the school corridors, trying to remember how and where things used to be, a fellow classmate confided to me that she “hated it here” — too much stress, too competitive.

I was taken aback. She had been one of the “popular kids,” who I thought had it all in high school.

I leaned in to her empathetically and said this was not always a happy place for me either — and I’m sure we are not alone in that regard.

On the plus side, pretty much everyone I spoke with agreed, whether or not we realized it at the time, the rigorous curriculum netted us an exceptional education that actually made college seem easier than high school.

Like Charles Dickens said: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”

Now, 60 years later, that’s all water under the bridge, though, isn’t it? Which begs the question: Why do we even go to class reunions?

We dress up, color our hair, trim beards, apply makeup, maybe get Botoxed, in an effort to look as young as possible, even though everyone knows how old we are.

Still trying to make an good impression — what are we, teenagers?

But, there is something cathartic about taking that step back in time, remembering the way it was and the way we were — and then letting it go.

I’ve heard there’s going to be another reunion in two years. Maybe I’ll save the date. Or not.