My own life is wonderful, but if I had to live the life of

When Julia Glass spoke the words, “My own life is wonderful, but if I had to live the life of someone else, I'd gladly choose that of Julia Child or Dr. Seuss: two outrageously original people, each of whom fashioned an idiosyncratic wisdom, passion for life, and sense of humor into an art form that anyone and everyone could savor,” she was not merely expressing admiration—she was giving voice to one of life’s oldest truths: that the greatest art is the art of living fully, and that originality, when joined with joy and wisdom, becomes a gift to the world. Her words celebrate not fame or fortune, but vitality, authenticity, and the creative spirit that turns existence itself into a masterpiece.

In naming Julia Child and Dr. Seuss, Glass invokes two souls who, though vastly different in craft, shared the same divine spark—the courage to live outrageously themselves. Child, with her towering laugh and fearless love of butter, transformed the kitchen into a stage where joy and curiosity reigned supreme. She made food a celebration, not a science—a symphony of flavor and imperfection. Dr. Seuss, with his wild rhymes and impossible creatures, taught the world that wisdom need not wear a frown. His stories, simple yet profound, carried the rhythm of play and the melody of truth. In them both, Glass sees what the ancients would have called areté—the excellence of being wholly, vibrantly human.

The origin of this quote lies not only in admiration, but in recognition—the recognition that originality is not a costume we wear, but a spirit we cultivate. To be “outrageously original,” as Glass describes, is to live beyond fear of ridicule, to speak in one’s own voice even when the chorus of the world demands conformity. The ancients spoke of this as the path of the hero—not the warrior of battlefields, but the warrior of the soul. The hero, they said, is one who dares to create meaning where there was none, who shapes the raw clay of life into something beautiful and strange. So it was with Julia Child and Dr. Seuss: their lives became art forms, not through imitation, but through unrelenting authenticity.

Consider the story of Socrates, the philosopher who, like Dr. Seuss, taught wisdom through play, irony, and questioning. The Athenians called him a fool; he called himself a lover of truth. His originality lay not in grand invention, but in the courage to live as he thought, to speak what others dared not. He too “fashioned an idiosyncratic wisdom” into a gift that still nourishes minds thousands of years later. The same flame burns in Julia Child’s laughter, in Dr. Seuss’s rhyme, and in Julia Glass’s reflection—it is the flame of those who turn life itself into teaching, and who remind us that joy is not the absence of seriousness, but its perfection.

In praising these two, Glass also gives us a mirror. She invites us to ask: What art have I made of my own existence? For each life, however ordinary it may seem, holds within it the materials for creation—humor, hardship, curiosity, tenderness. The artist of life is not one who escapes the mundane, but one who transforms it. Julia Child took the humble act of cooking and made it a hymn to love. Dr. Seuss took the nonsense of language and made it a vessel for wisdom. We, too, can take the raw clay of our days—our labor, our laughter, our losses—and shape them into meaning.

Let us also notice what unites these three—wisdom, passion, and humor. Wisdom alone can harden into cold intellect; passion alone can burn uncontrolled; humor alone can grow frivolous. But when all three are joined, they form a trinity of vitality, a completeness of being. This is the balance of the sage and the artist: to live seriously without heaviness, joyfully without folly, and humbly without self-denial. In Julia Child’s kitchen and Dr. Seuss’s pages, this balance sings. And in Julia Glass’s admiration, we hear the ancient echo of that song—the call to live brightly, truthfully, and with laughter on one’s lips.

The lesson, then, is this: live artfully. Do not wait for genius or grandeur. Let your originality—however quiet, however humble—shine through your work, your speech, your being. Cook your life as Julia did: boldly, imperfectly, with a messy grace that feeds others. Write your days as Dr. Seuss did: with rhythm, wonder, and love for the absurd. Seek not perfection, but presence. Laugh often. Speak straight. Follow your curiosities where they lead, and let your idiosyncratic wisdom ripen until it nourishes more than just yourself.

For in the end, the greatest legacy is not the work we leave behind, but the aliveness we embody while we are here. Julia Glass’s words remind us that to live “outrageously original” is to offer the world the one thing it cannot find anywhere else—you. So live fully, speak boldly, laugh deeply, and let your days themselves become your masterpiece. For that is the art of life, and the art that anyone and everyone may savor.