It happened. I’m not a twenty-something anymore.

I did not predict that my grocery store gig would be the point of intersection for my two fields that are polar opposites: design and general bio. Learning about viticulture has allowed for my biology degree to be dusted off and come of some use, almost a decade post-graduation. If only someone would’ve told me then that I could use it to understand and appreciate fine wine & food. I would’ve still gone off to become my group’s token artsy hipster but it would’ve alleviated some of the guilt of having a science degree in a drawer all those years.

February means it’s my blog’s birthday too. Six years, making me five times older than this little labor of love that started as anonymous and aimless ramblings.

Being in Napa Valley has solidified one pure truth: I love everything barrel-aged. Cabernet, balsamic vinegar, maple syrup. Anything that’s a little oaky makes me grin like a baker sniffing a fresh focaccia. Well, that makes me grin too. How appropriate to be turning 30 in wine country, where aging makes something more valuable, more complex, and more layered.

 

Despite establishments being legally required to card customers purchasing alcohol, I have been mistaken for being underaged at liquor stores, bars, and the DMV. I will humbly blame this on my love of Harry Potter clothing but it’s surely been uplifting to have winery staff point to me specifically and ask if I’m over 21 as I simultaneously exit the twenties. Never have I heard “babyface” so many times in my thirty years like I have this week. Maybe it’s all a ruse, they can secretly tell, and are all graciously easing me into the next age bracket.

With that said, I’m aware that my body is not as confused as the sweet staff of Stag’s Leap Wine Cellars. I’ve noticed that my slow metabolism is even slower, that more smile lines aren’t fading when I frown, and that some grays insist on stubbornly sticking out of my dark, curly mane. With time, as every year passes, you learn maturation does not happen overnight. With time, you learn to appreciate fragility and you witness deterioration. But ultimately, with time, you learn that time itself is also finite yet fast.

But it is not all regression. Aging is cedar, vanilla, and spice. It’s toast, honey, and almonds. Aging is life’s flavor and to drink a wine is to reflect on that lifetime. Aging can only give you depth that will never satiate an audience, leaving them eager for another taste, for another way to experience that life again.

Who wouldn’t want to be that for someone?