I worry that we have forgotten to feel wine.
We live a colorful wine life – in white, red, orange, and pink. Wine has possibly never been so restless, so energetic, so dynamic, so inviting. It is exciting. But I have started to worry that in all the rush, we are failing to find respite. I am equally worried we are missing the point of wine, as indeed we may be missing the point of life, which is to feel it. Literally in its wetness, texture, clinginess, but also figuratively in its ability to remind us we are sentient, at times complex but mostly simple, unique beings. Make it, pour it, share it, write about it, discuss it – of course. But make time to just be with it and allow its chameleon nature to shape shift to our personal shadow, that is something I worry we do not encourage others to do enough. For fear of what exactly? Redundancy? Is our ego put at too much risk by allowing another’s id to explore wine for itself?
This is not about over-simplifying wine. It is about finding our ease alongside it. I want to make room for it as we should make room for all things that speak to us wordlessly. I continue to study wine and champion the integrity and authority that comes with knowledge. But the challenge with knowledge is knowing when to let it go. The pursuit of knowledge is worthy, essential even. But so is its
