A MODERATE PASSION

I went to see "Julie and Julia" last night. I loved the movie, and found that it stirred up an interesting mix of reactions in me. First, of course, it made me ravenous. Spending two hours watching Powell and Child serve up one glorious dish after another was delicious torture; thank goodness we want to the early show so we'd have plenty of time for dinner afterwards.

The movie also gave me a serious case of cooking lust. I like to cook but tend to do much less of it in the summertime when the kitchen is hot, appetites are light, and you never know who's going to be home for supper from one minute to the next. But after seeing this movie, I wanted to rush right home and start peeling something.

The other reaction the movie triggered--and this surprised me--was envy. I found myself envying the intensity of the passion these two women brought to cooking. What must it be like to love something that much?

My sister and I have had many conversations about our "life themes." We've concluded that hers is excess. She is an actor, so every experience--no matter how wild and crazy--is like a deposit in her creative bank. She embraces it all. That's passion.

My life theme, on the other hand, is moderation. I have a thousand interests, and I'm enthusiastic about all of them--to a point. But passionate? Dedicated to one thing to the exclusion of all others? I can't imagine investing that much of myself in any one pursuit.

It took Julia Child eight years to write her culinary Bible, "Mastering the Art of French Cooking." What commitment. What focus. What passion.

Julie Powell decided to spend one whole year of her life cooking every recipe in Julia's book--365 days, 524 recipes. She did it--with commitment, focus and passion.

Does moderation preclude excellence? Is it possible to live a balanced life and still excel? Is passion a prerequisite for exceptional achievement? What do you think?