Wine Tastings and Honesty

Yesterday a friend turned 30 and a bunch of us went out to brunch to celebrate. Her husband had also rented an eight-passenger van, so after brunch several of us piled in and went to sample some wines by Cayuga Lake.

Since I'm a whopping 143 pounds and never built up a tolerance for alcohol, the constant sampling caused me to become slightly tipsy. Okay, I was probably drunk. First time ever, woo-hoo!!

My memory of that time is a little hazy, but I do remember laughing a lot, talking loudly, and being generally rambunctious and boisterous. Okay, I was probably horribly inappropriate and I may owe them all a blanket apology.

But it was good. Like, really good. It was just a lot of fun with some of my best friends. And at one point I realized that the alcohol had completely compromised whatever filter exists between my mind and my mouth. Every random thought I had was immediately verbalized, regardless of it's merit.

And now, the following morning, I am resisting the impulse to rake myself over the coals for it. I tend to do that after I've spent time with people (even completely sober). I go through my mental recording of everything I said and did and then I chastise myself for my stupidity. I second-guess everything, beating myself up for just not keeping my mouth shut.

But somehow, in the midst of all the craziness, there were some incredibly honest conversations. Already established friendships found deeper roots, the importance of our presence in each others' lives was verbalized and confirmed.

Maybe I don't really need more of a filter. Maybe I need less of one. I try so hard to control other people's perception of me that I sometimes wonder if they even have the chance to know me at all. My ego and fragile self-esteem hinder my attempts to be authentic and vulnerable. I try to keep all my messiness hidden beneath a veneer of having it all together.

And that's a lie. I don't have it together, even a little. But maybe community isn't a bunch of perfect people being perfect together. Maybe it's a bunch of us screw-ups peeling back our masks and tentatively showing our true faces. Maybe it's the surprising grace that meets us there, the disarming unconditional acceptance.

Maybe I can make a fool of myself, a wine-buzzed blathering idiot. But what's most pathetic is that I can't be that honest all the time. Sure, there's much to be said for wisdom and discernment. There's a time to speak and a time to be silent. But I want to be part of real community, even if that means peaking out from behind the mask so others can see me, warts and all.

So c'mon, open up another bottle of wine. Here's to great friends.