The One Where Molly Muffles the Tooting of her Own Horn
While California experiences one of its worst droughts on record, professionally speaking, winter has been very good to me. Along with general good health and the love and support of family and friends, from December through February, I have also:
Passed my Level II exam with the Court of Master Sommeliers and therefore become a Certified Sommelier;
Completed a 175% funded Kickstarter campaign with my husband for our business, the Homebrewer, to expand into a brewery and tasting room, Home Brewing Co;
Recieved a $350 Scholarship from the Women's Wine Alliance for my continued wine education;
Been one of fifteen Sommeliers selected for a week long hosted enrichment trip in Napa Valley through the Guild of Sommeliers and the Napa Valley Vintners Association, along with attendance at the Premiere Napa Valley Auction;
Recieved a $1000 scholarship from Chalone vineyars for my wine expertise and continued wine education.
These are merely facts. Let's get one thing straight: I've never been too comfortable with tooting my own horn. Looking at the facts, I've proven to be kind of a big deal in the past few months, but I feel uncomfortable saying something like that in public, even to friends, family, and co-workers who know me, my work ethic, and my level of expertise. Even this week, on the eve of my huge, expenses-paid trip to Napa, as I smiled for the camera at the Chalone Vineyards tasting where I was one of two people to earn a $1000 scholarship, I lapsed into mental self-deprecation:
"What does everyone see in me that I don't?"
What? My mind was so upset, and saddened, by the part of me that pushed this thought into my head at the moment where my confidence should shine the brightest. I spend the drive home, and much of the few days that have passed since that moment, trying to answer that very question. Although I think its' the wrong question. At the heart of the first question lies a second:
"Why don't I feel comfortable touting, or even discussing my accomplishments?"
My competitive side replies, "Because people don't like a braggart. Because I'm not perfect. Because I'm not the best. Because I can do more." And it's true. But my compassionate side is heartbroken. My loved ones want to know about my successes, and I know that nobody can ever be "perfect," or "the best," and there will always be "more." That's true too, but relativism isn't as sexy as a brooding dose of humility.
So as I pack for my trip to Napa, which is THE biggest career opportunity that I have earned so far as a Sommelier and is so sublimely esoteric that few people really understand the personal, professional, and monetary worth of such a trip, I struggle with pinning down the fine line between confidence and boastfulness. I hope that my search for Terroir, the "somewhereness" of the vines, will also help me to find my very own sense of place; a space where I can express my true self to recieve (and accept) the criticism and praise that I deserve.