There's a little something I like to call the comfort conversation.

It's akin to comfort food...but more like macaroni & cheese or lasagne than like ice cream or candy...it's the warm fuzzy kind of comfort that makes you feel safe and secure.

Yesterday, I got to have one of those conversations, and it reminded me again that I am blessed in so many ways, particularly in the way of friends and family.

In order to fully comprehend the comfort conversation, you have to know about the conversation that preceded it. I called a friend who lives on the East Coast. She's recovering from surgery. Since she's exhausted, and I'm better on e-mail, the fifteen minute conversation was kind of stilted and awkward. Still, she and I were both glad that we had talked...but it wasn't a comfort conversation.

I hung up and returned a call from my friend who had asked me to "call me back when you get a chance," but by the tone in his voice, I knew it actually meant, "Okay, so something weird happened to me, call me ASAP." I called. I asked what was wrong. He recounted the story of an overweight drag queen who kept following him and some of his friends around San Francisco. Now, the actual story is much less entertaining than that one line of description, but his retelling of it was just so...so...SEAN. I can't describe it any other way, and it was a great comfort to hear my friend just be my friend and to recognize the fourteen year old boy that I first met in high school in this twenty-five year old guy on the phone.

The other type of comfort conversation that requires much more than a thirty-minute conversation on a cell phone is the one that traverses the same paths over and over again. Talks about old teachers, talks about former classmates, telling over and over again the dreams for our lives and how we're somewhat confused. This other incarnation of the comfort conversation is very specific and must always follow a prescribed path. These conversations begin with a bit of catching up but always end with an hour or so of the same conversation. Almost the EXACT same conversation.

What both of these versions do, though, is remind me that the person I was in the past still exists somewhere, that someone (other than my relatives) knew me 11 years ago. I look forward to my next serving of comfort conversation. A shared past is a great safety net when faced with an uncertain future.

I've gone a long time believing that my generation is the one that will FINALLY make the right decisions, will CHOOSE to be happy and will NOT wind up regretting half of life (and making sudden and drastic life changes at 37).

One of my best friends is deciding whether to take a year off and apply to her true passion then, or wind up commited to something she sort of hates for the rest of her life. I don't know what she'll decide. Maybe she'll realize that what she thought she hated really isn't so bad, but I'd feel so disappointed if she went with what she hates because she doesn't want to "waste" a year.

Believe me, I have my deadlines -marriage by xx, kids by xx - (clearly a kid raised without a lot of rules will invent her own and hold herself strictly to them...I realize more and more how hippy-like my parents are!). But I have learned as my deadlines passed by without the accomplishments firmly in place that meeting a deadline does not secure eternal bliss.

I could probably have married a certain guy I dated when I was 21, and I would have met a deadline. I would also probably be divorced by now, accomplishing something totally not on my list of life goals. What are deadlines in the face of an unhappy life?

I just pray that my friend can put aside the notion of wasting a year and realize that spending a year might buy her a life she loves.

Well, I have lots of things on my mind, as I usually do, but for once, I'm going to take the time to write them all down for your pleasure and enjoyment - don't you love the minty fresh taste?

Okay, first. Last night, I realized once again that I was not raised in polite society. No, I was raised Catholic. I will always refer to priests as "Father," nuns as "Sister," the Pope as His Holiness and will always bow my head for the final blessing. However...when it comes to mingling with the upper-crust, I tend to forget the rules of society. My lower/middle-middle class upbringing combined semi-hippy parents and a religious belief that the clergy are really the only ones who need titles. That said, here's a conversation that could have gone better:

My boss: This is INSERT NAME OF SORT-OF-CUTE BOY HERE. He is the field agent for...

Me: FIRST NAME of an important political figure in the State of California (NOT the governator)

Sort-of-Cute Boy: Yeah...I work for the POLITICAL TITLE

Me (in my head): Yes, your boss refers to this person by first name, because they are FRIENDS, but you, Miss Sarah, are a mere peasant who should remember political titles.

Further proving my point that Cal Grad though I may be, I still can sound like a moron without even really trying. Another conversation:

Me: So, the school I worked at for a semester in Marin City was really interesting, because all of the wealthy people in the area sent their kids to private school, so this junior high had maybe 40 kids. You would think that would result in great one-on-one teaching, but the teachers had pretty much given up on these kids before they even got started...

Sort-of-Cute Boy: Yeah, that's the problem with school voucher programs....

Me: Oh, yeah, people pay for public school by buying pepsi or going shopping, I don't know why they expect to get that money back (in my head: WHAT??!).

Him (trying to salvage the rapidly degenerating conversation): Yes, but they don't realize that public schools turn out people, like you and me, who want to give back to the community.

Me: I went to private school...

Clearly, I should not be let out to wander amongst the upper-crust.

Second, me sounding like a moron aside, I really enjoyed talking to Sort-of-Cute Boy. Of course, I had heard of him before (he's the son of someone I know and the field agent who calls my boss for the political figure...so he was not an unknown quantity, just an unknown face,) and knew that he had a girlfriend. That actually took some of the pressure off (imagine what I would have said about school vouchers if I DIDN'T know he had a girlfriend). We actually talked for about an hour (so I guess I didn't make too much of a fool of myself), and I realized as I stood next to him, talked to him and talked to other people at this gathering with him, that I need to date a guy like him. Someone mature and intelligent but still young enough to make fun of his American Studies major. Someone taller than me in three inch heels. Someone who can carry on witty conversation while also managing to poke fun at a) themselves and b) super-conservative and scary people who actually refer to Civil Rights as "civil rights" (with the quotes, as if they are a theory and not something that people actually deserve). BUT someone who doesn't make a joke out of everything.

All in all, it was fun to talk to a boy my age. I miss boys. I work in an office with a LOT of women, and I miss boys.

And finally, in this ridiculously long post, an article I read yesterday. The author talks about how twenty-somethings now are constantly complaining about being in debt and unable to save anything towards their future. He claims that we're all a bunch of babies (well, not in those exact words), BUT he also mentiones that when HE and his friends graduated college, they felt exactly the same way and all turned out okay. So, let me get this straight. You're allowed to complain about how hard it was when you were 25 and facing the real possibility that you would NEVER be able to afford to buy a house in your hometown (or the surrounding area), but because it turned out okay for you, the new generation can't complain. Okay...I don't get it. Oh, wait, I do. This is the usual "I trecked through six miles in the snow to get to school, so why should you complain?" story, right?

Look, I'm happy with my life now. I have made efforts to improve it, to build on my undergraduate education and to make a life for myself. That said, it's HARD, and no one really mentioned that in college. I truly feel that I was led to believe that after college, things would just magically sort themselves out. I would be INSERT NAME OF CAREER HERE, engaged to INSERT NAME OF CUTE BOY WITH EQUALLY IMPRESSIVE CAREER HERE and on my way to having my adult life in the "real world." That's not what happened. I went to grad school, tried to figure out why my life so did not fit in with my plans, spent a year living like a pauper to pay off THAT decision. My university was no help (much as I love to say GO BEARS!), because nearly every job fair I attended on campus featured employers who laughed in my face when I told them I was an English major. Okay, why do they even HAVE the major if it's going to be completely useless when I graduate? So, that's my rant for Mr. 20-somethings don't have it so bad. You know what, everyone entering the world after college (or even high school) has to struggle, and I think we have a right to complain. When I'm 35, I'll try to remember this and not turn around and tell my cousins and other younglings that they have no business complaining, because I graduated in 2002, when the world was really tough...

Okay, so I'm back in California, gradually getting used to life again. It's amazing how after even only two weeks away, I need to get adjusted to the way things are done here.

When I first spent dollars (instead of pounds) again, I sort of stared at the money in my hand before giving it to the cashier. I had gotten used to pounds, and now I needed to figure out our monetary system again. It's odd how I so easily forget how to do things when I'm forced to do them again.

It's also weird that after two weeks of trying NOT to appear like a big, loud American, on the last evening in England, I totally regressed. Well, my whole family did. We were loud. We asked for tap water. We wanted ice. We were starting to "return" to America, if only in our behavior, and to be perfectly honest, I sort of stepped out of myself and just laughed at the whole situation. I am a loud American, and that's not something I can change in two weeks. When I am exhausted and thinking about a 10 hour flight, I am not on my best behavior, and my natural tendencies reveal themselves. My natural tendencies are towards being American...I suppose that's okay as long as American doesn't mean rude.

Before I return to work tomorrow (after a two and a half week absence, I hope that I'll remember how to turn on my computer, not to mention how to do the other things I do on a daily basis), I suppose I should write something resembling New Year's resolutions.

Here goes:
(in the order they pop into my head, not the order of importance)
1) To be a better employee. If I intend to advance in my job, I need to make an effort to simply do my job without asking TOO many questions. I need to remember that I'm not myself at work but merely an employee...revealing too much of my anti-establishment tendencies (hey, I have them in my own passive-agressive way) will not result in my promotion.
2) To not worry. This is a big one, but I think it's one I can at least work on. I don't want to have pre-maturely aging skin, so I will try my best to take things as they come and not stress too much about the smaller things in life (yes, I am jumping on the "don't sweat the small stuff" band wagon about eight years late).
3) To continue to make time for my friends, family and the things other than school and work that matter to me. As my GPA actually improved in Fall 2005, I think that I can honestly say that I do better work when I have a busy life. So, I will continue to make friends, family and volunteer work a priority in 2006.
4) Alright, alright, I'll also consider the possibility of dating again. I've REALLY enjoyed the first four months of having once had a boyfriend but not having one now, but dating now seems like a legitimate possibility. But I'm NOT doing online dating again...that pool is waaaaay too diluted for my taste. Perhaps I will start with something my friend who is about-to-be-engaged did: writing a list of the non-negotiables, a reasonable but not "settling" list (so "Catholic" could be on the list, but "6'3" with blue eyes and brown hair" could not).
5) I will take that major step toward growing up...

It seemed fitting to write one last post directly from London (plus, we need to use up the time we purchased at the Internet Cafe near our hotel).

Tonight, as we entered the tube for the last time (from High Street Kensington Station), on the speakers overhead, I heard Michael Buble singing "Home," and it just felt so right.

This has been a fabulous trip.

I've driven on the "other" side of the rode, visited the British Library (wait until you see one of the coolest souvenirs EVER)..okay, one of the coolest library-school nerd souvenirs ever), browsed through the National Gallery, walked from Buckingham Palace to Traflagar Square, heard licensed musicians playing or singing in the underground stations, bought random British music and hopefully wonderful British books (including something new by Marian Keyes...brain candy, but BRITISH brain candy), ate bangers and mash and fish and chips...oh so many things.

This was a FULL and marvelous vacation, and I can't wait to go home and get back to my life.

I truly realized today that my feet are much more firmly planted than they were the last time I visited England. Last time, I had just graduated from Cal, and I was floating, unsure of the life that lay ahead. Well, I still don't know exactly what the future may hold, but I've enjoyed the past, and I'm looking forward to what the next few weeks, months and years will bring me.

Well, I'm looking forward to heading home in a couple of days (I miss my animals! Plus, I've read an e-mail in which one of them is referred to as a "crying mess" so the pet-maternal part of me is feeling a bit anxious about taking care of my poor pets!). That said, the last couple of days have been truly amazing.

Today, and I have to start with today, because it's still flowing through my mind...today, I ate fish and chips in the pub where C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien gathered with their brothers and a few of their friends every Tuesday morning from 1939 until 1962. They talked and yelled. They argued and drank. They called themselves "The Inklings." Today, I was in Oxford, walking the same steps taken by Thomas More and Lewis Caroll (I also went into the original candy store frequented by Alice, of Alice in Wonderland fame). Quite frankly, I felt smarter just sitting in the Eagle and Child nursing my pint (of Pepsi).

Yesterday, I sat in what my mom called "the seat of literature," poet's corner in Westminster Abbey. The church is well over 1,000 years old, and you can feel the ghosts all around. I sat for a while amongst the memorials/graves of Geoffrey Chaucer, Jane Austen, Noel Coward and the Bronte Sisters. It's a common tourist spot, but I think that Poet's Corner has a special meaning for English Majors (and it should be on the "must see" list along with the Library of Congress in Washington D.C.).

That's about as much as I can handle describing at the moment - I was rather overcome today...

Oh, one more thing, I did get to see the dining hall in Christ Church College at Oxford University where the Harry Potter movies were filmed :) Go Gryffindor!

Ta ta, and I'm looking forward to writing again soon from a water-logged California (instead of from a foggy but wonderful London-Town).

p.s. When I get home, I'm going to have to start working out again...or maybe GO DANCING, JUST LIKE MARILYN MONROE!