The thing about sour grapes is that you have to be vulnerable to create them. You have to really reach for them. I imagine it like you’re reaching for something you really want and it’s up really high, so high you’re on your tippy toes, your stomach stretching to where your shirt can no longer cover it, leaving your belly, the belly you’re so often self-conscious of, exposed for a good old poking. Inevitably, someone pokes that soft spot. You recoil immediately. They make a comment about your weight or your size or even give you a smile. But it doesn’t matter what they do or say; they’ve made what was once invisible very, very present. And it’s not a fun feeling. At all. You slink away and, either consciously or unconsciously, decide you’re not going to reach for that thing again anytime soon. You made all that effort and you walked away with nothing but perhaps embarrassment. It wasn’t that important after all, you convince yourself.
That’s what sour grapes is: really wanting something and then diminishing it when you don’t get it.
I think about the coworkers of mine who were famously opaque. You tried to reel them into a conversation and they’d keep it all at the surface. There was no way to truly get into the inner workings of their mind, not when you couldn’t find the key, the keyhole, or even the door. But then a conversation about a recently-filled job opening would come up. They’d remain quiet the whole time until you’d find out, almost like a whisper tucked inside a corner, that they actually applied for that same job and they were admittedly a little bummed they didn’t get it. It’s then you realize it was probably scary for them to stretch themselves, to possibly expose their soft side, the side that actually wants things it does not always name, and, of course, this is why they never said anything in the first place. They didn’t want to hear from an entire room how qualified they were or weren’t for a job; they wanted a quick email alerting them one way or another, hopefully after an interview.
I think about this a lot because this has often been me. A little scared to stretch out because Imposter Syndrome is real – a true double whammy when you’re a writer and a teacher – and because you just never really know how people feel about what you’re doing. We are all bound up in our own insecurities and hopes and fears. We inevitably project them on others. We are human.
So if you find a winery that’s made a successful side business out of sour grapes, know this: they exposed their soft spot many times and in many ways and found a way to make the best of it. That’s something to celebrate.
