How a Winemaker Spends Her Day—And Why It’s Nothing Like a Rom-Com Montage

You know the scene: a sunlit vineyard, a rustic oak barrel, and a woman in a perfectly weathered linen sundress, twirling a glass of wine while waxing poetic about terroir. Hollywood loves this trope (looking at you, A Walk in the Clouds). But let me tell you, real life as a former wine educator and writer in Napa Valley? It’s not exactly a montage of wistful stares into the distance. My days are equal parts romance, chaos, and the occasional existential crisis usually brought on by expired chèvre.

But there’s more to my life than swirling glasses and sniffing corks. Here’s an uncorked look at my daily routine—including quirks, rituals, and why I believe every good day (like every good date) begins with intention and ends with something sweet.

Morning: Where Coffee Meets Daydreaming

In wine country, mornings come quiet, like they’re waiting for you to make the first move. By 6:30 a.m., the light filters through my bedroom window, landing just so on my prized collection of travel-worn olive oil tins turned floral vases. For me, mornings are sacred, but don’t let that fool you into thinking they’re Instagram-perfect.

First stop? The coffee station. I have a French press and a deep-seated fear of pod machines (which may or may not be irrationally tied to their lack of soul—like a bland glass of mass-produced pinot). I pair my coffee with a mental lap through my to-do list. Work emails? Deadlines? Can I justify moving “answer editor’s email” to tomorrow? But, no matter how chaotic the day ahead looks, I try to implement what I call my “gratitude habit.”

Here’s how it works: I sit at my reclaimed-wood dining table—still sticky from last night’s attempt at homemade fig compote—and write down three things I’m grateful for. Some days, it’s profound, like the friends I’ve made in wine country. Other days, it’s “found a sale on fancy Maldon salt.”

Pro tip: This little ritual isn’t just a habit; it’s a grounding practice, a recalibration of perspective. Relationships thrive on connection, sure—but they also thrive on appreciation. If you can train your brain to notice the good in your day, noticing the good in someone else comes naturally.

Mid-Morning: Love...and Logistics

Once caffeinated, I dive headfirst into the world of wine consulting. This morning, I’m creating a tasting menu for a vineyard pairing dinner. Think: roasted duck with blackberry compote, poured alongside a sultry Syrah that practically flirts with your palate. Don’t get me wrong: this kind of matchmaking is exhilarating, but also oddly stressful. If you think pairing wine with food is complicated, try...well, pairing humans with humans.

Which brings me to dating. One of the most surprising lessons I’ve taken from wine education? People overcomplicate attraction, just like they overcomplicate pairing wines. Take my mom’s advice on this one: “If you like it, drink it.” Attraction works the same way—you don’t need the perfect descriptor or analysis of why you’re drawn to someone. Trust your taste. (Unless your taste leads you exclusively to people still ‘finding themselves.’ Then maybe recalibrate.)

Lunch: The Kitchen as Therapy

Lunch is my excuse to freestyle in the kitchen. Today, I’m tossing together leftover roasted vegetables, squeezing half a lemon, and sprinkling a conservative mountain of pecorino on top because cheese is not a discretionary item in my house. Cooking isn’t just something I do—it’s how I think, process, and re-center. One failed vinaigrette cured from glops of Dijon and too much olive oil tells you everything about mistakes, measurement, and recovery in life.

And let’s be honest: the parallels between cooking and relationships are endless. Both require experimentation, patience, and an occasional willingness to start over. You wouldn’t cling to a soup if you realized halfway through that it's missing the key ingredient (like salt or love). Trust me, Bordeaux taught me that.

Afternoon: Working, Wandering, and the Fine Art of Resetting

By mid-afternoon, I hit peak creative fatigue. This is when vineyard walks work their magic. Yountville is stunning year-round, with rows of vines that look like they were painted by a romantic who owns too many scarves. Wandering the rows often leads to clarity, or at least helps me ignore my inbox for twenty minutes.

Here’s where a small ritual comes into play: mid-walk, I pause, lean against a vine post, and pull out a small sketchbook from my tote. I’m not a great artist (my grapes suspiciously resemble marbles), but doodling forces me to notice minute details—the curve of a vine strap or how sunlight scatters through leaves like confetti. These moments, however fleeting, remind me to be present.

Here’s the thing about presence, though: it’s as important in your love life as it is in your regular life. Think about all those dates where your mind drifted to your grocery list or whether your dog was still mad about the vet trip. Being in the moment matters for connection. Wine drinkers know it. Artists know it. Vineyard walkers know it. Maybe it’s time we all take note.

Evening: Sunset Wine and ‘What Now?’ Conversations with Myself

Evenings are where the romance of Napa finally comes out to play. After sunset strolls and conversations with neighbors about the hedgehog population (don’t ask—it’s a thing), I pour a glass of wine. Tonight? A delicate Gamay, chilled just enough to make me feel like I’m at a chic bistro in the French countryside.

Here’s the truth: I don’t always sip my wine slowly while philosophizing about what flavor notes make it sing (cue dramatic violins). Sometimes I’m eating boxed mac and cheese and squinting at my laptop, pretending that deadline isn’t creeping closer. My point? Slowing down isn’t always about orchestrating the perfect vibe. Sometimes, it’s about finding moments in imperfection where things just work—talking openly with a friend, trading compliments with a stranger, or catching a gorgeous golden hour through your kitchen window.

Before Bed: Love Letters to Nobody (And Everybody at Once)

Before I crawl into bed, I write. Not just pieces like this for readers (though I do love reaching through the screen and imagining us as pseudo-pen-pals). This is quieter writing—often letters or journal entries I’ll never send. Letters to people I’ve loved, recipes for meals I might someday cook for them, reflections on moments I didn’t fully appreciate until I replayed them on paper.

There’s something unreasonably cathartic about this nightly ritual. I don’t write it for Internet validation or for show, but because it nurtures my sense of self before I fall asleep. Sometimes the best way to deepen connections with others—past, present, or imaginary—is to connect better with yourself.

Pro tip: Write yourself the love letters you wish someone else would. Trust me—it beats re-reading old texts or overanalyzing Instagram stories for hidden meaning.

Closing Thoughts

If my day sounds chaotic, cozy, and introspective all at once, then I guess this is the clearest glimpse I can give you of who I am. While much of my time is spent among vineyards and wine glasses, my greatest rituals are the ones that bring me back to myself—acts of gratitude, creativity, and food-strewn spontaneity.

Your day doesn’t need to look like mine, but I’ll share this: find the thing that grounds you, revel in the quirks that surprise you, and always—always—pour yourself a glass of something that makes you feel alive.

And if by chance your “something” is a bottle of Gamay? Call me.