In high school, I was a solid A- honors student, taking honors English and Social Studies class for four straight years. I was in the National Honor Society. I was a speaker at my high school graduation. I was also an obsessive theater geek, doing at least three (and sometimes four) plays a year with both my high school and the community theater. I spent four years in Greasepaint, the teen theater program that produced former SNLer Chris Kattan. I spent two years going to a 6:30 am jazz choir class. Classic over-achiever, right?

Maybe not. My parents were worried I was lazy, and frequently shared this concern with me. See, I didn’t have a job. Oh sure, I babysat. And I worked as a teaching assistant at the theater’s summer theater camp. But I didn’t have a job during the school year (how could I? I was too busy getting straight As and doing theater!), and this bothered my parents, who I think were worried they were cranking out an entitled, spoiled child who would never be able to support herself. They had serious talks with me about it, and chided me with stories of classmates and family friends who earned their own money so they could go on summer trips. My parents were convinced: I was lazy.

I graduated, went to college, and started working retail jobs, which eventually lead to office jobs, which eventually lead to writing jobs, and I forgot all about being the lazy one.

Last year, when reading through some of my old journals in search of a Salon of Shame reading, I kept noticing through all my years of high school all these references in my writing to my parents telling me how lazy I was. It was finally from my adult perspective that I was able to say, “Dude: WTF! I was an honors student who did theater nonstop and yet somehow I was lazy!?”

Over a brunch with my parents a few weeks ago, we got to talking about 30somethings being supported by their families. “I’m so glad you support yourself,” my mother said. “I used to worry about how lazy you were!”

It was time for my dude: wtf conversation. “Lazy?! But mom,” I said, “I was super active in after-school activities and got straight As.”

“Yeah, but school was always so easy for you,” she answered.

“So wait: because I was intelligent and didn’t complain a ton about studying, somehow that means I didn’t deserve those As? Or that somehow those As were of less value than As earned by a student who really struggled?”

“Oh, hmm,” my mother said. “But you didn’t work!”

Of course now I do work (constantly), but this conversation made me realize that this issue has come up numerous times in my career. I don’t like working HARD, and by that I don’t mean that I don’t like working. I love working. My hobbies include a lot of tasks that look a hell of a lot like work, and I do it because I enjoy it. But I have a real aversion to tooth-gnashing agony/effort. I love a good challenge, but I like trying to find ways to make challenges as easy as possible … I try to get through my work as efficiently and quickly as I can with minimal kvetching, and my parents aren’t the only ones to mistake this efficiency and cheerful demeanor as somehow evidence that I’m not actually working.

Several times in my career I’ve worked with people who liked to go on and on about how HARD their work was. Lots of bitching and moaning and sweating and panics and arm waving and oh my god, I can’t BELIEVE I got it all done on time! Time and time again I’ve seen this behavior rewarded. “They work so hard,” coworkers and managers will say. And they did indeed work hard. But did they need to? Did they get more done that way? Did they do it better, or just with lots of histrionics to ensure that everyone really knows that they did something?

I’ve made a career out of NOT working hard. And I intend to keep doing it this way, despite the fact that it may mean people think I’m not actually working.