Tonight I’m going to a concert that includes John Mayer. This will be the second time I’ve seen John Mayer perform in person. Let me tell you the story of the first.

The year was 2002. I was studying in London. For fall break I’d bought a EuroRail pass and was hopping between European cities with my friends Ethan and Grant. We began in Berlin, where we stayed with a bunch of Dutch guys in a hostel called “The Clubhouse” because it was actually inside a nightclub. (Why? Why would anyone ever do that?)

Our next stop was Munich, and Ethan was more excited about this destination than any other. Not for its historical and cultural value. But because there was an American singer who would be playing in a bar there, and he was dying to see him.

I’d never heard of John Mayer. Room for Squares had been released just a few weeks earlier. But this was before things instantly went global, and since I hadn’t listened to American radio in months, I didn’t yet understand the magic of “Your Body Is a Wonderland.”

Tonight’s concert will be in Spectrum Arena, which holds 20,000 people. That night, there were about 40 of us in the room. We were in a grungy bar on a quiet street far away from Munich’s bustling tourist area. The “stage” was about a foot off the floor and we squeezed right in front of it. Mayer chatted with the crowd between songs, and when Germans would yell out songs for him to play, he obliged. (Mostly, I think, because when someone yells something at you in a German accent, it’s scary and you say yes.)

After the show, Mayer came out for a drink and we chatted with him and took photos with him. My photo with him was blurry—something I blamed on Ethan for some reason. And so that Christmas Ethan gave me a photoshopped non-blurry image of myself with John Mayer. I kept that framed photo on a shelf in my bedroom for years—as if we were so close that my pal Johnny might drop by for a cup of coffee any time.

After the show, on our way back to our hostel, we snuck onto the metro without paying the fare and ended up literally running away from a German guy in a uniform who was yelling “Halt!” and was definitely angry. Which is forever seared in my mind because it felt a little too close to something I’d seen in a WWII movie. Anyway, that’s a story for another day.

Tonight, I’m excited to see John Mayer again. This time, I’ll take an Uber—and pay for it. And I’ll sit in a company suite. And I’ll go home to room I’m not sharing with a bunch of people I don’t know. Which will all be great. But I’m betting that first show will still be my favorite.

Here’s a blasphemous statement for Thanksgiving week. I don’t really like turkey and dressing. Or pumpkin pie. I should probably just turn in my American passport now.

I do, however, enjoy a day dedicated primarily to eating. And I firmly believe in the Joey Tribbiani “how the human body works” philosophy that the stomach must be stretched prior to large meals.

Charcuterie, cheese, and wine are my personal favorite stretching methods—and like any good eating athlete, I’ve practiced hard on them. Here are a few tips for tasty charcuterie and cheese plates:

1. Trader Joe’s Roasted & Salted Truffle Marcona Almonds. I’ve never tried crack, but I’m willing to bet these are actually better than it.
2. Dalmatia Fig Spread. It generally runs around $6, which seems crazy for a fruit spread until you’ve smeared it on a cracker and topped it with brie cheese. Then your tastebuds are all like “$6? I’d pay $600 for this.”
3. Trader Joe’s Candied Pecans. Like Christmas in your mouth.
4. Warm Castelvetrano Olives. Sure, warm olives sound weird. And the only place I can consistently find these in Charlotte is Pasta & Provisions. But these will make all other forms of olive dead to you.
5. Rosemary and clementine garnish. If you’re trying to make that Pinterest-perfect cheese board, this is the key. You’ve got to throw some stuff on there that no one will actually eat. I’ve found that stalks of rosemary and a few clementines do the trick.

Bob Goff, who wrote one of my favorite books ever, Love Does, spoke at North Point church in Atlanta over the weekend. His talk is about 40 minutes long and worth every second you should spend watching it. He weaves stories of his own incredible life into a talk about how to freely love and give in ways that scare most of us. It is next level inspiring. Go watch.

(He’s part of a series of speakers talking about giving. Weirdly enough, the one with Jeff Foxworthy was also fantastic. My favorite line from that one was “Once you’ve tasted purpose, you can’t be happy with just existing anymore.” Did not expect to get inspirational quotes from a guy known for his 1990s redneck jokes. Life is funny.)

I had some non-work things I needed to take care of on Friday morning, so I took the day off and started my weekend early with friends at a concert on Thursday night. Then, on Friday afternoon I headed to the mountains with other friends for a weekend of hiking in the woods, eating too much good food, and playing games next to a cozy fire. Then, on Sunday morning I drove down to Greenville for a sweet baby shower with a few of my oldest friends.

I don’t suppose that the phrase “lucky in love” was created for people as single as I am. (Which is very, very single.) But it’s how I feel, nonetheless. I am so lucky to have these people in my life—and even luckier to call them friends whom I love.

Last night I accidentally went to a sold-out performance by one of the original cast of Hamilton.

Let me explain how this happened. A few weeks ago I got an invite for myself and a guest to come to a media event for the Blumenthal Performing Arts Center’s 25th-Anniversary Celebration. I have a vague memory of skimming the invite and thinking, “I like the Blumenthal and my friend Jenn likes the arts, sure, this sounds fun.” I RSVP’d “yes” and forgot about it until it popped up on my calendar yesterday.

My day was so crazy that I rushed to get to the pre-performance cocktail party on time (35 minutes late). I never looked to see what the performance would be. Then, at the party I got caught up in conversations with old friends and when they hurried us out to “make it to the show on time,” I was still in a conversation that didn’t end until I realized we were walking into the Belk Theater. With thousands of other people.

The ushers were rushing people to their seats as the show was about to begin. As we sat down, the lights began to lower and I leaned over to Jenn whispering, “What the hell is this?”

This experience led me to a few revelations. First, I really need to actually listen to Hamilton. Leslie Odom Jr., the evening’s performer, was amazing. It was a seriously cool night that also including an unveiling of a new logo for the prestigious arts center, and a fascinating look at its founding a quarter of a century ago.

Second, and possibly more importantly, I might be losing my mind. Between a busy new(ish) job, travel, and life, my brain feels perpetually scattered. It was only a matter of time before I ended up at a Grammy Award winner’s concert not knowing how I got there.

So, lesson learned. I need to start getting more sleep. Or meditating. Or maybe just actually reading my emails.

About six weeks ago I learned I was going to be traveling internationally three times in the span of a month for work. So, I decided it was time to go ahead and do the whole Global Entry thing. I signed up, filled out the forms, and they assigned me an in-person interview date of exactly three days AFTER I returned from the last international trip. Seems about right.

Last night, I went to the airport for my interview. (Sidenote: The Global Entry office at the Charlotte airport is in the customs area. Which means that I had to walk past like four very large signs reading “DO NOT ENTER” in order to get to it. The rule-follower in me found this excruciating.)

When I walked into the office I met Doris, the officer there. She was about a foot and a half shorter than me and looked around 80 years old. “That you, Sarah? You’re my last interview of the day. I hope you’re not a criminal because I do NOT have time for it.”

I told Doris that other than the occasional speeding ticket, I generally obey the law. She did not find me even a little amusing. She squinted at me suspiciously and then looked over my information.

“You’ve been to Grand Cayman twice in the last month. Are you banking down there? Are you doing something illegal? You’re doing something illegal, aren’t you, Sarah?”

I was definitely scared of Doris by this point. I told her all my actions in Grand Cayman were legal and had nothing to do with banks.

She took my fingerprints and photo, and signed off on my application. “Ok, you’re approved now. Don’t make me regret it. DO YOU HEAR ME? Don’t you make me regret it, SARAH.”

I promised I wouldn’t and then basically ran away. So, now I’m technically a “trusted traveler”—but definitely not by Doris, who, by the way, is exactly who I’d choose to be defending our borders.

A month or so ago my boss was like “Hey, Sarah, we need some help with our Grand Cayman trip. Would you mind going down on the site visit next week and then also staying for a full week during our event down there?”

I tried to nod and smile in a professional manner rather than jump up and down with pure joy. I think I half succeeded.

The trip wrapped up on Monday and it was just as glorious as I’d imagined. Sure, we worked and we actually worked pretty hard. But working at the Ritz-Carlton in Grand Cayman is still better than basically any other work day.

As I said my good-byes and hugged all the locals who had been such great people to work alongside that week, it made me think a lot about how you really don’t know where life will take you. (Yeah, this is going to be one of those blog posts.)

It’s one of the strangest things about travel though. You often leave a place assuming you may never see it again. And even more often, you leave people assuming you’ll never see them again. It bothers me.

My point in this absurdly drawn out entry is that I want an app developer to create an app that allows you to do something as simple as tapping phones with someone and that connects you permanently. So, let’s say I’m down in Grand Cayman, as I’m saying my good-byes and giving hugs, we give quick phone taps.

Then, two years later, when I’m walking into the Ritz-Carlton in Miami and one of the workers from Grand Cayman is now the GM there, our phones beep, notifying us that the other is within 100 feet and offering us the chance to message each other. Or when I’m on a flight and I have a layover in Dallas, and so do they, our phones beep, and now we can grab a coffee and catch up.

Maybe I want to be polite, but I don’t actually ever want to see the person again? No problem. We bump phones, I walk off and block them. They never know.

This past summer I was randomly reunited with a friend I’d spent a summer in France with 19 years ago. It was completely random. We re-met in a pretty dramatic way (I was introducing her to a crowd of about 800 people), but a few weeks later we grabbed drinks on a quiet patio and caught up on the last two decades. It was pretty incredible.

So anyway, someone make this app. Because I really want to use it.

Here are a few of my latest favorites.

I picked Station Eleven up at a Barnes & Noble (that’s right, it was made of paper and purchased in a real live bookstore) on a Monday night. I finished it on Tuesday. It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed a book this much. It combines the best of all the weird “what if?” scenarios of an apocalyptic pandemic with strong characters, cool and connecting storylines, and great writing. I wanted to reread it the second I finished it. That good.

I love a great mystery podcast and this was one of my favorites yet. Dirty John is the first true crime podcast from the LA Times and it’s just incredibly well done. The characters in it feel like they’re pulled from the pages of a thriller novel or a juicy soap opera. It’s a fascinating story about a consummate con man. It’s also a story that will make you never trust someone you meet on the internet again. So, consider that a fair warning.

I know I’m behind every other human on earth, but in case you were back there with me, it’s time to watch the first season of Stranger Things. The second season comes out tomorrow! Honestly, I’d put this off for forever because I’m not into science fiction or horror, and it just didn’t look appealing to me. But I loved it so much. The story line was compelling enough and the characters are great, but what I really loved was that it felt like I’d time traveled to my childhood. It feels so much like watching something like ET or The Goonies that it’s uncanny. I don’t understand how Hollywood does that. Anyway, it’s pretty great.