It's always when I let go, when I come down from a high, that my body seems to give up, as if to say, "I carried you through all that, now I need a break." I thought I'd rested sufficiently this past week, had let the remainder of the birthday excitement seep out of my system. Yet, maybe that was my downfall: getting a little too comfortable with comfort.
Still, sometimes a crash is necessary. And, sometimes it comes unexpectedly, after a weekend so relaxing that you can't place your finger on what you could have possibly done to throw yourself over the edge. Once again, I blame the rain.
But, before the rain came, I did have a perfect fall Saturday at Boyd Family Vineyards harvest party, where I sipped on their latest releases and enjoyed some hors d'oeuvres on their beautiful property. I went alone, something I really haven't done at all since coming to Napa. It was refreshing, though a little lonely at the same time.
I've traveled on my own before; there's nothing quite like the rush I've gotten by being open to meeting new people and having new experiences when I'm in a foreign place on my own. There's a sense of excitement and adventure that puts me out of my comfort zone, the idea that I never know if the stranger who passes by me on the sidewalk might just be that - a stranger - or, instead, become a travel companion and a lifelong friend.
It's a natural thing for me to do in a new place, to go out on my own and not think twice about my lack of company. So what makes it so different when I'm in a place where I live? Why should I be more self-conscious, or more cognizant of flying solo?
On Saturday, I tried to tell myself that this was just like traveling, like when I was in Italy or Chile or some other far-flung locale, where I found myself in a new environment never knowing who I would meet. Yet, this is Napa. Where I live. The people in this "new" environment might be next to me at the check-out counter at Whole Foods next week.
Anonymity. That's what's lacking when trying to be independent in a familiar, contained environment. It shouldn't hold us back, but for some reason it does. I met some great new people at that harvest party - maybe I'll keep in touch with them, maybe I won't. But, the important thing is I wanted to go and so I went, whether or not I had someone else to accompany me. I was open to the experience - that's what matters.
I was thinking about this the next day as I showed, Filipe, a client of my company's from Portugal, around Napa. It was his first time in wine country and after a late start (due to a rental car incident) we began our tour with lunch over a glass of wine.
Filipe had spent the previous day in San Francisco, a place he was also seeing for the first time. He was on his own and was pleased by how much he took in in just a single day. Everyone was so friendly, he said, and each new thing he did came about because of the recommendation of others he met.
That's what happens when you're open to possibility - the world seems to turn up people to help mold those experiences for you. Had he been shy, embarrassed to dine out alone, Filipe would have had a very different experience of San Francisco.
And he and I were open to that adventure as I showed him around Napa, though we explored together, rather than alone. When things went wrong, we improvised. We battled the rain and discovered the winery we were meant to visit (Clif Lede) was closed, so we brought out umbrellas and chose a different vineyard to visit (Robert Sinskey). There, we met new people who we wouldn't have otherwise met, people who were interested in trying Filipe's wines and sharing their own.
As my mother always says, that's the beauty of life: you never know what the next minute brings. You just have to be open to that moment, even it comes to you on your own - and when you least expect it.
That's not to say that the moments with good company should be overlooked, like the first of many cooking nights (well, technically the second, if we count my birthday dinner) with Nathalie and Laura and about seven other new friends.
Perhaps the tortilla espagnol, homemade pizzas and 2003 Abadia Retuerta Cuvee Palomar (a delicious, rare Spanish blend of Tempranillo and Cabernet Sauvignon from Ribera del Duero) were just too good that my body simply had to crash afterwards?
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