Volunteering to Be Vulnerable in the Wine World
The stage was set for high drama in the wine world.
The finals, that is, of the ASI Best Sommelier in the World competition, held two Sundays ago at the La Défense Arena in Paris. I had the incredibly good fortune to be in the audience, as seventeen semi-finalists filed onto the stage and then were whittled down, excruciatingly, one by one, to the final three. Those three, again one by one, “performed” wine service to a makeshift set of tables with different demands from guest diners.
It was an impressive show, to be sure, between the performative nature of the competition and the intense pressure around the outcome for contestants at the very top pinnacle of their profession.
Big show. Big stage. High drama. Lasting implications.
Yet the one word that kept coming to mind, throughout the competition and each time I thought of it afterward, was vulnerability. Specifically, how the contestants volunteered to be vulnerable, in a very (very) public way.
To me, volunteering to be vulnerable is what made the deepest impression, so much so that I started noticing vulnerability in friends and colleagues on most days since then.
The young mentee who asked for advice on the mechanics, literally, of speaking up for herself with a too-demanding boss.
The dear friends who tenderly revealed fissures in their relationships, who carefully and bravely approached meaningful topics of conversation that in many circles would be labeled taboo.
The colleagues who take a deep breath before starting to speak in front of a crowd, leaning into life-long anxiety about public speaking.
They are all volunteers for vulnerability. And they are my heroes and heroines.
There’s an imbalance to vulnerability. We’re vulnerable when we’re no longer on solid footing, when we become untethered, when we let go of the ledge of the pool and hover in the deep end.
I’d like to take a moment this week to recommend that sensation, to volunteer to be vulnerable in small and maybe even big ways, to surprise yourself to hear a particular string of words coming out of your own mouth or to be physically in a situation entirely unknown.
Maybe it’s risky. It’s also courageous. I wish for more of that.
Finally, a note on the role of the person on the receiving end of the vulnerability, who recognizes that vulnerability has been volunteered. That person’s responsibility, I think, is to set “compassion” as their default setting. Judgement of any sort gets checked at the door. Instead, look for ways to protect and even reinforce the space that’s been created by the offering of vulnerability.
That’s the flip side of the coin. Yes, I wish for more vulnerability. I also wish for more compassion when it’s offered.
Please let me know how it goes, whichever side of the coin is up for you this week.
Namaste,
Cathy
