I was watching the Oprah/Whitney Houston interview (Tivo!) and thinking about people who are born for a certain career or have a real passion for their work. I’ve never really felt like that kind of person (read: I’ve had a lot of jobs). Yet in the past year, data analysis has become a big part of my job, which I find weirdly satisfying. I realize that for me, turning pages of numbers into pretty charts and graphs is the adult equivalent of organizing a pile of crayons. I get to figure out what makes the most sense – rainbow color order (ROYGBIV), alphabetical by Crayola color name (apricot to yellow orange), or even from most stubby to most unused (gray, am I right?).

Just thinking about crayons leads me down a path of neuroses. The tinge of regret when I realize I have to start pulling back the paper on the crayon. The irritation when other kids put the crayons in the wrong slot in the box. The complete confusion when families kept their crayons in old plastic ice cream tubs, Crayolas all mixed up with off-brand crayons collected from birthday party favors or kids meals at Shoney’s. These crayons were rounded on BOTH ends, wrappers half torn off, tiny paper bits scattered in with mysterious waxy stubs that could be black or blue or purple but I can’t tell which without using them.

Unable to complain openly about these perceived transgressions as a child, they now manifest as “errors” and “data anomalies” and I get to point them out and complain. In fact, it’s my JOB to highlight them and explain why they’re wrong. It’s like tattling on bad children but without the threat of getting beaten up after school.

Ahhhh… satisfaction!