Learning to Focus
Have you ever noticed how if you try to look down a road, at a certain point it becomes a black dot? It just blends into the landscape. Continually, I try to set goals for what that black dot is going to be in my life. Sometimes it’s a little thing like planting my very first garden, or learning how to drive a stick-shift. And at other times the visions are larger; then perhaps the road is not as obvious. France was a bit like one of these larger visions.
The truth of the matter is my collision with France was accidental, as most life-altering events tend to be. I had to go abroad for my junior year and having studied French, I thought well, heck - France would be a good option. I longed to break the language frontier and really be able to speak French fluently. The country itself was more of an after-thought, a thing to be discovered, enthusiastically of course, but there was no love involved. It was love I eventually felt though. Love at first sight. I landed in Toulouse, which for any Parisian is practically the country-side - but it is in fact France's fourth largest city. My host family picked me up and sped me through the town to their 2-story apartment en centre ville. Never had I imagined streets that could turn like that, windy little cobble-stoned roads, with barely a side walk. Cars were parked every which way, some even doubled up perpendicularly, as if there had been some confusion about which way the street ran. And the lights. Lights illuminated the boulangerie, the jewelry store and the churches. The architecture melted Mediterranean warmth together with France aristocracy. Under earth tile roofs were Madonnas in relief, Greek heroes and gargoyles carved into the stone buildings between brick underlay. Medieval wooden doors hid immense apartments on even the smallest of windiest streets. I could have never guessed such depth, such brilliance, and that I would fall so quickly into my first love affair.
When I returned to the US, I was changed. France had become my dot down the road and I couldn't shake it. With my undergrad degree in pocket, I went back to France for a visit in 2001, promising I would return as quickly as possible. But then September 11th happened. And before I knew it a large wrench had been thrown in my wheels. Years past. France became a humming thing I wanted but remained at the back of my mind. I was finally beginning to gather up other black dots to superimpose onto my French vision, when my brother told me, "If you want to go to France, you better go now, or you never will.”
So I did what all people with big dreams and slightly cold feet do; I jumped right in. I quit my job and bought a one-way ticket. I had already kind of formed a game-plan of what I wanted to do in France and it was wine. Wine combines almost all of my most long-held interests: botany, art, history, working with my hands, science and enjoying a long-awaited product.
Although I was slightly reserved about going to Paris, I decided that this was the best spot to 'integrate' myself into French life. I found a job and an apartment-share on Craigslist in no time. And Paris was every bit as beautiful as the France I had saved in my dreams for so long. I fell in love again too. This time with a French man. His name was Philippe. He had a Vespa and dark sunglasses and wore one of those brightly colored French scarves that only French men know how to wear. He showed me the city, mostly on bike. Although Nôtre Dame was in our backyard and the Pantheon in our front yard, we biked through all of Paris - through the distinguished 16th, the artsy 18th, the trendy 20th, the classy 7th - stopping at bars and cinemas and canals on the way - the Tour d'Eiffel sparkling on every hour. All my dreams became one dream, one road; my sole overwhelming motivation became staying in this relationship.
Tragedy ensued, as it always does when one's dreams all occupy the same basket. And so after love had become war (and I the only casualty), I got back on my feet and dedicated my energy to following through with my original game-plan: wine. I parked myself in the library at the French Pompidou museum and read about wine. I took amateur courses and did long searches on the internet. I never let my eyes stray from the black dot down the road. And after a long hard look at the business, I decided what I needed to do was to become an oenologist. I had learned after all that I take my passions very seriously. And this passion was the most important one of my life so far.
I’m pleased to say that I have just completed my first year of oenology studies. My school is in the city of Toulouse, site of my very first feelings of love for France all those years ago and I am happy as a clam. Currently I am working in an internship in Sauternes (just South-east of Bordeaux), at a Château classified as a *1e cru*, where I have been observing clones of the Semillon and Sauvignon grape varieties. The region is beautiful, all forests and ferns and churches land-marking villages that are surrounded by vineyards. The wine itself is also fabulous - heavenly deep and complex with smells of honey and candied citrus fruit. The older vintages are amber in color, but the new are a rich yellow. The technical work with the vines is fun too. I have driven my very first tractor and soon I will be observing fermentation and doing chemical analyses. I am exactly where I want to be and I love what I am doing.
So in the end, I suppose life is more like a map than just one long road. A map filled with goals and plenty of obstacles. But I’ve learned that with motivation, fueled by passion and ambition, I can check off the black dots as I get to them, while embracing the challenge of getting to those that are still out of sight.
