If My Life Were a Movie
You know the scene—the one where the protagonist glances wistfully out a rain-streaked window, soft piano music swelling in the background. That’s supposed to be the emotional crux of the story, right? In a hypothetical movie about my life, though, that window would overlook rows of grapevines glistening with early morning dew, and the piano would probably be replaced by the smooth, jazzy strings of a Charles Trenet tune. Napa Valley isn't just a backdrop; it's a whole supporting character, swanning into scenes with arms full of rosé and fresh baguettes. (She’s kind of a showoff.)
But a movie needs more than a pretty setting. It needs plot. It needs drama. It needs characters—some laughably miscast, others eerily perfect. So, indulge me for a moment: If my life were a film, who would play who, and how would I thread life’s twists, turns, and Pinot Noir-riddled hiccups into two hours of cinematic splendor?
Act One: The Opening Montage (Cue the Chignon and French Music)
Picture this: a precocious, wide-eyed girl (hers truly!) skipping through rows of vineyards as her parents swirl ruby-red liquid in fancy stemware. Young me is dressed in a smocked dress likely covered in jam, which is both a cute narrative device and an accurate nod to how many picnic blankets I stained growing up. Napa Valley wasn’t just my hometown; it was my classroom.
For the younger version of me, I’d cast someone like Sophia Lillis, whose natural curiosity and fiery hair would nail those childhood years. My parents? Naturally, they would be played by Stanley Tucci and Juliette Binoche. Who better to capture the charm and sophistication of people who can pontificate for twenty minutes on tannins and mouthfeel? Together, they’d grace the screen with a chemistry that says, “Yes, we’re married, but wine remains our true and undying love.”
Act Two: The Awkward Years (Or, A French Exchange Student in California Dreaming)
By my teenage years, I was no longer skipping through vineyards; I was sulking in them, convinced that life among million-dollar wineries made me the least interesting person in the world. (A ridiculous notion, looking back—but hey, adolescence doesn’t operate on rational thought.) Enter the required cinematic subplot: high school crushes.
The object of my teenage affections would undoubtedly be played by Timothée Chalamet. Does he look like half the boys who also sulked through my high school English classes? Of course. But this is my movie, and if I want Timothée whispering, “You’re not like other girls. Let’s listen to Radiohead and talk existentialism,” then so be it.
This is also where my unusual skill set—bizarrely accurate wine-tasting notes at the age of 16—earned me the nickname “Napa Nostradamus” among my peers. This fact would, reasonably, be played for laughs in the movie. Expect a montage of me sneaking sips of illicit Gewürztraminer while others chug flat beer from red Solo cups.
Intermission: The Meet-Cute That Wasn’t
In every rom-com, there’s a meet-cute—a fateful moment when love takes its first wobbly, awkward steps. Sadly, my meet-cute would hit the cutting room floor. Why? Because instead of bumping into a charming stranger on a cobblestone street in Paris, I spent six months of my study-abroad program failing to flirt effectively.
Case in point: while in France, I tried to wow a table of Parisians with my knowledge of wine pairings, only to be told, “Mademoiselle, wine is wine.” (Translated: “You’re being very American.”) I’d cast Felicity Jones as my older, polished self for this chapter—equally capable of delivering a sheepish smile and a scathing comeback when my attempts at romance flopped harder than a corked bottle of Beaujolais.
Act Three: Love, Life, and Le Pinot Noir
The rom-com portion of my movie would take a sharp turn toward food-centric drama (think Julie & Julia but with better tastings). Romantic relationships in real life? Too messy and layered for the tight arcs required of a single movie. (Though I admit, there are a few awkward first dates—one involving a man tearing up over not being served ranch dressing—that would make for solid comedic relief.)
Instead, the great love story of this movie isn’t with a person but with wine and storytelling itself. One pivotal moment would focus on me leaving the world of wine education to start building a “life by the pen.” Late-night writing sessions with half-empty glasses of Merlot and stacks of culinary memoirs sprawled across the table are the kinds of scenes that would practically edit themselves.
But if you’re clamoring for a romantic lead, here’s a twist: I’d cast Oscar Isaac to play “The Doubts That Keep You Up at Night.” Stay with me here: those intense, brooding stares? That man can convey complex emotions so flawlessly that he’d embody every internal debate I had about fundamentally changing my career path.
Supporting Roles: The Ensemble That Makes the Movie
No good movie survives without its quirky side characters. There’s my best friend from college, whose whirlwind dating stories make any Napa gossip seem beige in comparison (Awkwafina, naturally). There’s the crusty but lovable professor who encouraged me to write about my lived experiences instead of overthinking my “literary voice” (Harrison Ford, begrudgingly funny). And let’s not forget my childhood golden retriever, Baxter—played convincingly by a CGI-enhanced version of himself, because Baxter deserves nothing but the best.
Honorable cameo mentions: Every server who has ever heard me ask, “But do you have a dry rosé option?” deserves a moment in the Credits of Shame, accompanied by collective eye rolls.
Act Four: The Soundtrack of My Life
No great movie exists without a killer soundtrack, and mine is laced with moments of effervescent charm and warm nostalgia. Think Ella Fitzgerald’s “Cheek to Cheek” crooning over a dinner party al fresco, or Django Reinhardt playing softly as the camera pans a scenic drive through California’s rolling hills. (The big “career epiphany” scene? Scored to Paolo Nutini’s “Iron Sky.” Moody but resilient—exactly the vibe.)
And yes, there’d be a montage of me struggling to open a particularly stubborn bottle of wine, scored to Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive.” Because, obviously.
The Ending: A Toast to Messy, Beautiful Imperfection
Here’s where most movies tie everything up with a big cinematic bow: the career triumphs, the sweeping romance, the perfectly lit final vineyard shot. But my movie’s ending would lean into the messier bits of life—the parts that can’t be neatly distilled into a happy ever after. Maybe it’s a lingering shot of me wandering through a vineyard at dusk, notebook in one hand and a glass of crisp Vermentino in the other. The future? Still unwritten.
Because that’s the thing about life—it’s ongoing, evolving, beautifully imperfect. And much like winemaking, it’s never really about seeking perfection. It’s about learning to savor the moment, whether it tastes like bold tannins or… yes, ranch dressing on a first date.
So, go ahead: pour yourself a glass (white, red, sparkling—it’s all wine), and toast to the art of embracing the unexpected. Life may not follow a screenplay, but sometimes, the improvisation is where the real magic happens.
