As I write this I’m watching Julia and Julia with my wife Traci. She read the Julia Child book, My Life in France. It seems that when Julia Child began taking cooking classes she found that she really enjoyed what she was doing. I looked up the passage of her describing her experience as she started school, she writes:

I had always been content to live a butterfly life of fun, with hardly a care in the world. But at the Cordon Bleu, and in the markets and restaurants of Paris, I suddenly discovered that cooking was a rich and layered and endlessly fascinating subject. The best way to describe it is to say that I fell in love with French food—the tastes, the processes, the history, the endless variations, the rigorous discipline, the creativity, the wonderful people, the equipment, the rituals.

I had never taken anything so seriously in my life—husband and cat excepted—and I could hardly bear to be away from the kitchen.

What fun! What a revelation! How terrible it would have been had Roo de Loo come with a good cook! How magnificent to find my life’s calling, at long last!

Indeed. This comes on the heels of an idea I read in Seth Godin’s blog a few weeks ago, about our attitude toward our work. He basically asks the question, shouldn’t our work be spiritual:

But isn’t your work spiritual?

I know doctors, lawyers, waiters and insurance brokers who are honestly and truly passionate about what they do. They view it as an art form, a calling, and an important (no, an essential) thing worth doing.

In fact, I don’t think there’s a relationship between what you do and how important you think the work is. I think there’s a relationship between who you are and how important you think the work is.

Life’s too short to phone it in.

If I was convinced that living in this state of engagement was possible, then I don’t think I could stand to do anything with my days that didn’t bring this level of satisfaction. I’m almost convinced.