After a quick diversion in Europe away from regular life, I neither "found my identity"(so to speak), nor uncovered a profound life-plan that had - potentially - just been simmering below the surface of my consciousness and needed some sort of upheaval to be recovered. Returning to regular life is not possible for me. It's not that I don't want to, I terribly crave some stability, but the job search begins and I might end up anywhere or be anything. The adults think this is a wonderful opportunity - the world is my oyster. And it is, though I seem to become paralyzed by too many options and therefore become another statistic of an apathetic millennial.
In my more productive moments, the job search charges forward. An article/blog/idea ignites my most energized enthusiasm, not unlike Sir William Wallace shouting a battle cry from his stallion and pacing the ranks of his Scottish army - unprepared but throbbing with passion. Through these efforts, I obtained a position at a winery in Edna Valley. I am now a "tasting room host," or attendant? I'm actually not too clear on the job title, but I pour wine. So far, I've only spilled on one person, so I'd say it's a success!
I know nothing about wine. Well, that's a lie. I adore dessert wine, tolerate some whites, and detest all reds (I'll stick with craft beer, tequila, champagne). My first day on the job, two middle-aged ladies vigorously swirled their 2013 Pinot Noir, stuck their noses in the glass, resurfaced and urgently proclaimed that this wine reminded them of a park. No, the dirt and grass at the park. Wait... It's just like a picnic basket! I almost doubled over laughing but kept my bar-tending cool. I knew this job wouldn't be so much about wine as it would be about the characters I would meet.
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| Severson's Album Cover. |
A couple of my favorite customers so far have been an old cowboy and his wife. They came in on a busy Saturday and were relegated to the corner of the bar where I was able to make small talk with them between pours for my other winos. Aside, I thought of calling this blog post "An Introvert Learns Small Talk" because serving wine has been a crash course on how to be friendly and talkative to strangers (not a natural ability for me). Usually, I end up telling my life story to most of the clientele, and the cowboy was no different. I told him where I was from, how I got here, my endless number of interests...
I went to Cal Poly, studied molecular biology, don't want to do research, maybe grad school, I love to write, animals, art, etc., etc.. He leaned on the bar and said "just follow your passion, if you don't, you will always regret it." He saw the guitar charm on my necklace and asked if I played. After that we had a long conversation about Johnny Cash, and he turned to his wife and asked her if she had something for me in her purse. She pulled out a country album and handed it to me. "Wrote 'em all myself!" The cowboy said. "They're about love and living out on the range." His wife smiled at me and said, "yep, after playing for the NFL, he found his voice in music." She looked at him with a proud little smile and hooked her arm through his. I poured their last taste, a 2012 Syrah, and tucked the CD away where I wouldn't forget it. Jeff Severson of the Redskins, country musician and cattle rancher, took his wife's hand and they left with their spurs clinking.
