i've worked incredibly hard for as long as i can remember. i tried to perfect my color-by-numbers in kindergarten. i asked my grandma to help me knit an entire stuffed teddy bar as big as my torso in second grade. i practiced the multiplication tables at home in fourth grade for weeks to impress my teacher and pass the test with flying colors. there really was no reason back then. and maybe there still isn't. everyone looks for self-motivation, drive, ambition, a work ethic, the way that showdog owners look for the perfectly bred, big-eyed, curly haired puppy to groom and snip and trot to perfection. and i had all these things–the coveted discipline and the need to pursue perfection all the time, in anything i did–because i am a showdog. i am a rat in the race, and i can't tell how early on i became this. there is nothing particularly wrong with it, because i set some goals and worked hard to achieve them. the cruel joke is that i got exactly what i wanted and i am happy,...