Sonoma is the quintessential wine country community, the kind of place out-of-towners dream about when they think of Northern California, and ponder leading the kind of romantic lifestyle I only know about from movies and stories and being a daydreamer myself. It has a grassy, tree-shadowed square and the streets are lined by quaint shops and beautiful hotels, award-winning restaurants and casual cafes. Wine and cheese is a way of life, enjoyed daily like a meal, and the passing of the seasons is noticed in grapevines rather than tree leaves.

As a Napa Valley girl, born and bred, I am virtually committing treason by announcing this confession, but there is something I love about Sonoma so much more than my hometown, I find it difficult to express beyond my obvious appreciation of its aesthetics. Perhaps it is because it is a tabula rasa, something Napa can never be for me. Regardless of the fact that it is a mere 15 minutes from Napa, it often feels a world away.

Now, I know I have a penchant for wanting to run away from my life at times. Proven in my indecision, in my quick decisions, in moving to and fro, sleeping on foreign couches and sisterly futons, in friendly beds, on not-so-friendly floors, not knowing what the hell is coming around the next bend, finally settling at the beginning again. Settling, however, very often feels closer to restlessness, neighbors on the circumference of a circle rather than strangers at different ends of a spectrum. But I’ve come to the realization that what I am actually trying to do is run towards my life. I feel as though it keeps evading me somehow, like a star in the sky when you look directly at it. Only when you look away, does it finally come into focus, burning brightly in the corner of your eye.

MY good friend, JB, and I had a little date last Saturday night. I arrived at her house around 8:00pm, we enjoyed a glance of pinot noir as we chatted and she suggested we drive into Sonoma for dinner and conversation. A Napa girl, like me, she couldn’t bear the thought of our usual downtown Napa routine, undoubtedly running into all sorts of characters from the past (i.e. high school, boys and drama-causing friends) and I inwardly breathed a sigh of relief because my feelings mirrored hers exactly. I was almost going to suggest we stay in, in order to avoid the fray that is Napa on a Saturday night.

We conversed as she drove, winding her Land Rover through the two dark valleys, catching up on months of new developments after a summer apart. Upon our arrival at the square buzzing with tourists and locals alike, all out painting the town burgundy, we parked and chose a restaurant called the girl and the fig (lowercase letters). We have both recommended it a combined total of one hundred thousand nine hundred ninety eight times to guests at the hotel, but had never actually patronized the place ourselves. Concierges are the best liars who give the best advice on the best restaurants to which they never actually go. Unless invited as industry guests. Complimentary, of course :)

We sat at the bar, I pulled a fantastic bottle of Terra Valentine Cabernet Sauvignon from my handbag and gave it to the friendly bartender. One of the things I do love about wine country folks – most everyone knows how to pour wine correctly; into a certain glass according to the varietal, never filling the glass more than halfway at a time. If that qualifies me as a wine snob, I don’t care.

As we enjoyed our wine and cheese, another fellow concierge, and dear friend, arrived. LS was on a first date with a stockbroker, nice guy, and they joined us at the bar for cocktails and conversation.

After the lovely girl and the fig, we crossed the square to the locals’ favorite Irish watering hole, drank some beer and water and then said good night to LS and her stockbroker, who were clearly ready to continue their date sans JB and me.

When JB and I got back to her place, we chatted outside in the cool night for a bit, and although we talked for close to five hours that night, what I remember most about what we discussed is this: Her son had been having trouble recently with mean kids at his school. He is only six years old, I think, but is so wise, asking her how it is that people can be so cruel. Her response was equally wise. She basically told him that all we can do is surround ourselves by people who make us happy and to not worry about what other people think, because there is nothing we can do about them.

I have thought a lot about that advice in the last week. Because I think that is the ultimate struggle we all face in life. Finding who and what makes us happy. Easier said than done, right?

What I do know is this: Nothing makes me happier than a great bottle of wine, great friends, loving family, reading a good book, writing in my journal or on my blog, yummy cheese, and knowing that I don’t have to run from or towards my life, if I am willing to accept what makes me happy right now. My future life of travel and love and adventure will wait for me, while I enjoy my present life of school and struggle and sacrifice. No rush, right? Life is not a means to an end. As the saying goes, life is a journey, not a destination. Happiness is not “there” but here, not “tomorrow” but today. I have heard this quote attributed to Ralph Waldo Emerson, Steven Tyler and Sidney Greenberg. Though it has become so ubiquitous it almost requires no author. Common knowledge need not be included on the works cited. So I must accept it as a truth, and learn to live it.

Now, if I can only hold onto that notion for a few years – or even a few hours…