“So: where do you want to be in five years?” a friend asked as rain splashed the co-op courtyard one April afternoon. Sarah stretched mightily and flopped back onto the couch.
“Employed!” I said with a laugh. Given the economy, it wasn't a joke. I said, “What about you? In five years?”
“Dunno,” she said. “Graduated, of course. I don't think there are many art-history jobs out there.”
Sarah said, “Maybe I'll switch my major to basket weaving. Maybe I'll get married and make babies.”
It was early June before I found my first contract job in San Jose--the first of many such. Years later, back in Berkeley for a visit, I ran into an ex-neighbor who was still living at the co-op; he brought me up to date on people we knew in common. Sarah had changed majors and had just finished her Master's in physical therapy.
I was smiling when I headed on. Helping people had always been a turn-on for Sarah... .