What Tara Brach and Julia Child Taught Me About Life

I never thought a Buddhist psychologist and a French chef would become two of my greatest life mentors, but here we are.

Tara Brach and Julia Child live on different ends of the spectrum. One gently guides us inward with mindful awareness. The other joyfully commanded the kitchen with a cloud of butter and laughter. And yet both have taught me how to show up for my life with presence, imperfection, and love.

I have written about them separately in past blogs. About how Tara Brach’s concept of the sacred pause permitted me to slow down. Especially in moments when I felt overwhelmed or unworthy. And how Julia Child, with her fearless messes and unfussy grace, reminded me that joy is found in the process. Not in perfection.

Together, they have helped me unlearn so much of the shame and urgency that comes from being a neurodiverse queer woman trying to navigate a capitalist world. They showed me that mastery is not about getting it right every time. It is about being present while you are getting it real.

Tara says, real but not true. She is talking about the voices in our heads that tell us we are not enough. Julia, in her way, answered that by laughing off a dropped potato pancake on national television. You can always pick it up, she said, and kept going. They both gave me tools to meet failure with compassion and with humor.

Cooking and meditation both require attention. Both are daily practices. Both ask you to stay with the heat and not abandon yourself when things get uncomfortable. There is something sacred about stirring a pot slowly, breathing deeply, and tasting as you go.

Tara taught me to feel my feelings fully, to attend to and befriend the parts of me I used to exile. Julia taught me not to apologize when I am learning. Together, they helped me reframe my process, whether in the studio, the kitchen, or just daily life, as a kind of embodied grace.

So now, when I burn the onions or feel the weight of an anxious thought, I think of Julia’s cheerful resilience and Tara’s quiet wisdom. I take a breath. I laugh if I can. And I keep going.

Because life is not a performance, it is a recipe you improvise. A meditation that unfolds. A feast that is better when shared.