i obsess over the small details. i always have, and i suspect i always will. when i was young and living in korea, a mere lad enrolled in kindergarten, i double—er, quadruple—checked to see that my knee-high socks were indeed knee-high. if either sock had, god forbid, slipped down a quarter of an inch or lower, i made sure to yank that sock back up to the level of its twin.

this obsessive behavior has followed me throughout my elementary, middle and high school, university and work days. ms. gardner, my high school world history teacher, made us color maps (sooo many maps). i’d lay out the map pencils on my desk and go to town. i’d color in poland in light purple, first shading left to right. after laying that first coat of purple, i’d recolor the same area, this time shading top to bottom. comforted by the fact that no one could determine in which direction i’d colored, i’d take a sheet of kleenex and forcefully rub the entirety of poland, giving the area a glossy finish. my classmates thought i was nuts. “gosh, you must have a lot of time,” they’d say.

i’m not nuts, i just like to do things…i don’t want to use the word “perfectly”…but perfectly. or as perfect as i can make them. in the grand scheme of things, i realize that it doesn’t matter how i color maps; ms. gardner was going to give me a hundred on them anyway. it’s map-coloring, not rocket science. but that extra scribble of “wonderful!” or “beautiful!” written directly beneath my 100 made me feel…relieved ::sigh::

this obsessive attention to detail has served me well (employers usually consider me a good worker), and has served me not so well (co-workers usually dislike me). and not just at work, but in life, too. my shirts appear too crisp and my korean pronunciation sounds too natural (perhaps people just don’t like me?). hey, i’m just trying to do my best, y’all. stop hatin’. this need to do my best frequently takes me into dangerous places. relationships, friendships and common courtesy go by the wayside because i’m too blinded by the goal: finish the job. work, to me, is serious. if i didn’t take it seriously, i wouldn’t do it. but life isn’t all about work, now is it?

work is work and life is life. i don’t know when we started to separate the two. i thought life encompassed every part of your existence, which includes work, but we now differentiate ‘working’ from ‘having a life.’ when work rears its ugly head into ‘life’ territory, loved ones start to complain. you hear about it all the time—a workaholic wrecks his family because he loves his job more than he loves his family. i roll my eyes when i hear stories like that.

i am reminded of that one instance in sex & the city where mr. big decides to move to paris. he makes this decision without carrie’s input; she goes berserk. “this [decision] isn’t about us,” he argues, “this is about work!” does she get it? no, she doesn’t. true, he’s using work as a means to distance himself emotionally from her, but his heart is in the right place. screw her (she’s crazy in the first two seasons!); work is more important. besides, isn’t that what she finds so attractive about him? his confident, cocky, sexy douchebaggery? okay, muddy example.

in the devil wears prada (a movie i love to have on in the background), andy sachs works for the devil miranda priestly, a woman who basically works around the clock. subsequently, andy, who has a job a million girls would kill for, has to work around the clock as well. but nuh-uh-uh, andy’s (idiotic) boyfriend nate doesn’t like that. he says (dumbass) things like “the person whose calls you always take? that’s the relationship you’re in” and essentially makes andy feel guilty for having to work really late. god, he is such a loser.

i know members of the audience are supposed to empathize with the nate character, but i just hate him because he’s such a dingbat. doesn’t he realize that she has a job? and a job that a million girls would kill to have? i never really understood the ending; i thought andy was doing the right thing, selling her soul to the devil, paving the road to a high-powered career. why did she ever leave miranda?

work is work. you do work because you have to do work. perhaps it’s to get a paycheck. perhaps it gives meaning to your ‘life.’ it is my opinion that when you commit to work, you commit 100%. like my mother says, “if you’re going to do something, don’t do it half-assed.” i fully believe in that statement. so i sit in the school office and work on lesson plans and powerpoints and class materials. i laminate, i cut, i type, i delete, i think, i write, i rewrite, i imagine, i execute, i repeat. not because my job requires me to be obsessive about every single detail, but because i require that of myself.

i work smart and hard. i don’t know how to work any other way. even if my job was picking up garbage (not that there’s anything wrong with picking up garbage), i’d do it to the best of my ability. because…why not? i really resent people for questioning my motives to strive for ‘perfection.’ you just care about yourself and leave me alone. stupid classmates making fun of me for coloring maps well.

so the ‘life’ side of life is really important. i know that. i’m not sitting in my studio thinking about tomorrow’s workday. i watch tv, i unwind, i watch 30 rock, i eat, etc. i’m in a healthy relationship, my parents love me, i pay my bills, i read (sometimes), i pick out what outfits to wear…this is my life. the balance between ‘work’ and ‘life’ is delicate; the two sides aren’t mutually exclusive. ‘work’ bleeds into ‘life’ sometimes, and vice versa. when you work too long and hard, life will somehow put things into perspective—your boyfriend will break up with you, or you get addicted to amphetamines.

but ladies and gentlemen, if your co-worker is working too hard (meaning, working harder than you), then just leave them alone. what business is it of yours if they work themselves into the ground? i mean, really. and if your beloved stays at the office until midnight, just let him/her be. do you want to be that person? “it’s either work or me. choose.” gross.

in case you were wondering, those maps from 10th grade world history class? i keep them in a shoebox that’s labeled, “things i can’t bear to throw away.”