And so I write...

Woke up this morning feeling numb and blue.  Don't worry, everything is fine.  But in this journey of detoxing that I've been on since the New Year (detoxing from physical clutter, from mental clutter, from time clutter, from foods and thoughts that's don't serve me), I find myself feeling my feelings more.  And not knowing entirely what to do with them, I find myself writing.

And reading.  This morning, in one two-hour sitting, I read a book cover to cover.  I was riveted.  Called Chasing Daylight, it's ultimately about a 100-day project that makes my 100-day projects look like child's play.  It's a last memoir about the writer's 100 day "project" -- his deep intention -- to die well and on his own terms.  Still in his prime at 53 and the CEO of KPMG, the writer was told he had terminal cancer and three months to live.  While he set out to write a book about dying, his incredible story is ultimately one with lessons for living... well worth the read.

Of course, spending my morning reading a book that I hadn't even yet downloaded was not on my to do list.  But I got an email from my brother-in-law who had read the book yesterday, and I found myself drawn.  So instead of working, I found myself curled up with a cup of tea and reading instead.

Last week, in the midst of crazy grant proposal writing, I found myself doing something entirely uncharacteristic as well.  I stood up, stretched... and proceeded to take a luxurious hot bath.  In college, I used to take paper-writing breaks to take a shower (in the middle of the day or night -- whenever I happened to be writing), but this was much more for productivity than indulging in leisure.  Like many people, I tend to have creative and "a-ha!" thoughts in the shower, so this became an almost-ritual through my college years.  And sure enough, with hot water pouring around me (at my second or third shower of the day), I'd get an epiphany that would give me the creative jolt to tie the paper together in some meaningful, thoughtful way.  Yet last week's bath was not for that reason.  Hunched over my computer for hours working on a grant proposal, I could feel the stress rising in my body.  And while the old me yearned to hunker through until I finished, the new (or "emerging") me knew this was the perfect time for a break.

You see, I'm not behaving much like myself these days.  Eight years ago, I underlined a sentence in a book that I recently picked up again once I moved to Korea.  It reads: "You're either losing your mind -- or gaining your soul."  In the margins, I had scribbled, "Friends asking about a mid-life crisis" and in all-caps: BRILLIANT!

There's a famous episode of Seinfeld where George spends a day doing the exact opposite of everything he would have done normally.  And the gags start when this ends up making him terrifically successful in just about everything: he gets his dream job working with the NY Yankees, he asks girls out, he becomes confident and respected.

Sometimes this is what I feel like my experiments -- my own 100 day projects -- make me do.  Not that I think my "old" self was so bad.  It wasn't.  It isn't.  I'm incredibly proud of all that I've achieved.

But I started to get a nagging question: Does it have to feel this hard?  Is all the stress (and self-doubt) really necessary?

As it turns out, it's not.  Because right after that deliciously warm bath last week, I cranked out a pretty great proposal (if I do say so myself).  But I did it without wearing myself out, and with a lit candle, fun music, and a hot mug of tea beside me.  What I'm learning is that things don't have to be a trade-off (work vs fun).  It can be both.  And that more fun also can mean better (and more creative) work.

Alas, this new frame of mind is a journey and not a destination.  And sometimes it's easy for me to get derailed.  That's why I started a new photo project (those of you on Instagram already know this) called #365 pleasures.  Starting last Saturday on my birthday, I began posting a "pleasure" from each day... this could be a gorgeous avocado for breakfast or silk pajamas or walking barefoot in the park near our house (it's inspired from the amazing global project, #365grateful).  It's a daily reminder to step away -- to consciously and purposefully inject more joy, fun, celebration, and play into my life.

And I'm learning that by taking the time to do that, my world doesn't crash around me.  Maybe my inbox is fuller than usual, but maybe zero inbox is no longer the game I want to play.  There's a yearning within to play bigger -- and while I don't yet know that this means yet, I know how I'll get there.  Intense self-care (I'm still sleeping over 8 hours a night), simplying life, and yes -- a healthy dose of pleasure, play, and fun.

Anyone wanna go roller skating when I'm in NYC next week?

Let's celebrate and have a good time

I love birthdays.  They're such a fun reminder of all the goodness in life (though Tyler and I joke that his favorite day of the year is March 8th).

This past Saturday, I woke up "early" to watch the sun rise (lucky for me, the sun rises at 7am in Seoul!) and to admire all the birthday decorations around our apartment.

In Korea, when babies are born, they are already considered 1 year old (the time in the womb apparently counts... abortions are therefore unsurprisingly illegal in South Korea, though the country has one of the highest abortion rates in in the world).  Additionally, on January 1st, everyone in the country officially turns one year older. (My Korean friends get around this inter-continental age confusion by directly asking me what year I was born in).  So this past Saturday, my American age started catching up with my Korean age.

After a birthday toast of Lindemans framboise (my favorite beer because it tastes just like a delicious raspberry smoothie -- yes, really), Tyler and I headed north to Itaewon for my birthday brunch at my favorite brunch places, the Flying Pan.  On the way, it occurred to me that this weekend marked my six month anniversary in Seoul (though who's counting??).  So my birthday brunch with friends was as much a celebration for the day itself, as well as a celebration for the community we've started to develop during our time here.

You know it's a good day when the only items on the agenda are: brunch; green juice; massage; dinner.  It was the most relaxed (but full) birthday I've had in recent memory!  The massage at the W was one of the best massages I've had... well, ever.  It was a "Korean cup" massage... which hooked me with the "Korean" in the name (must be authentic even though it's at the W, right?) -- but the receptionist kept trying to talk me out of it: "It's a very hard massage.  You may have bruises tomorrow."

Needless to say, I reconsidered, but decided to go ahead anyway.  The whole experience was a bit surreal (the decor was space ship themed), but sooooo deliciously nice (and no bruises to speak of!).

Feeling like jello and floating on clouds, I headed southwest from the W on Walker Hill to meet Tyler at Apgujeong, the fancy part of town that reminds me of London's Knightsbridge or Madison Avenue in NYC.  We met at Chef Lim's Jung Sik, a "New Korean" restaurant, whose New York branch has two Michelin stars.  With Tyler's own good news from the day (more to come!), we splurged on a celebratory 8-course tasting menu with wine pairing.  My mouth is watering just thinking about the night... It's become easily my favorite restaurant in Seoul: amazing ambiance, great service, inventive cuisine.  Definite must try!

It's Korean tradition to eat seaweed soup, or miyeokguk, on your birthday.  This is because the mother-to-be is fed lots of seaweed soup prior to delivery (as it's been explained to me: "seaweed is slippery, so it's thought to help the baby come out more easily") and traditionally eats seaweed soup as the first meal post-delivery.  After doing a bit of research, it's actually more scientific than one would think!  The seaweed soup is made up of a type of seaweed called "miyeok" or brown laver.  Not only is this seaweed smooth, rubbery, and slimy -- but it is also rich in iron and iodine (important given all the blood loss during birth!)

After hearing it was my birthday, Jung Sik gave me an extra course during the meal.  In true "New Korean" style, it wasn't soup though -- they had created a type of pesto from the seaweed and served a dish that I can only call "Korean risotto."

It was an amazing meal and a wonderful night.  Looking up at some point between our three courses of dessert, we realized that we were among the last two tables still there.  Felt like a true date night!

Tummies full, we headed out and turned a corner to find a jazz club called "Once in a Blue Moon."  What a fun night to an amazing day.

True to form, we were in bed by 11:30pm though.  I am 36 now after all.

What the Economist didn't tell you about Korean last names

Those who know me know I have a bit of an obsessive personality.  What tends to especially spur me is the answer, "Nobody knows," to a random question.

Since coming back from Bali last week, my current fascination has been on Korean last names.  The same week I moved to Seoul last September, The Economist published an article called, "Why so many Koreans are called Kim."  Apparently about 50% of South Koreans have the last names of Kim, Park, and Lee.  The answer, it seems, largely stems from Korea's feudal history, where only royals and a few aristocrats had the privilege of last names.  Starting with the reign of Wang Geon and the Goryeo dynasty (918-1392), the granting of last names became a sort of reward to faithful subjects and government officials (by the way, the modern (Anglicized) name of "Korea" stems from this "Goreyo" dynasty, with the Hangeul letter "ㄱ" representing both "k" and "g").  Last names then became all the rage, with successful merchants often buying one through the purchase of a genealogical book, which commoners began to forge as well.  The names "Lee" and "Kim" were used by royalty in ancient Korea, so these continued to be the "it" names for those taking on new last names.  The trend seems to only be increasing in modern day Korea; as foreign nationals from other Asian nations become Korean, they apparently are continuing to choose Kim, Lee, Park, and Choi as their new Korean last names.

All fascinating.  But Tyler blew my mind at some point in Bali when he asked: "Did you know that 'Lee' in Korean is spelled 이?" -- (I know, we have the most fascinating vacation conversations).  You see, 이 actually just spells "Ee" -- not Lee.  So since being back, between drunken conversations over sake, more serious conversations in Korean class, or Kakao chats with Korean-American friends in NYC, you can be sure I found ways to bring this topic into conversation (often not subtly so) over the last week.

Who knew that in piecing together the answer, I would learn so much about Korean history and culture through its language.

The name, Lee, goes back centuries and originates from China with this character (which is Romanized to "Li" for Chinese-Americans):

For centuries, Koreans had been using Chinese characters for their own alphabet.  In fact, the small pool of Korean last names stems from Chinese surnames, which were adopted by the Korean court in the 7th century based on noble-sounding Chinese last names.

The fourth king of the Joseon Dynasty, King Sejong (also called Sejong the Great, who reigned from 1418-1450) made it his life goal to democratize literacy in Korea, thus spending the majority of his life creating the Hangeul alphabet (as well as enabling tremendous advancements in the areas of science, culture, art, and politics).  I know this because soon after arriving in Seoul, we celebrated "Hangeul Day" on October 9th, where we had the day off and just explored.  Rather than using one character for every word (as every learner of Mandarin painstakingly knows), the new Korean alphabet was an achievement of simplicity and intuitiveness.  Comprised of 24 consonant and vowel letters, the consonant letters show you where to place your tongue (for instance "ㄴ" tells you to place you tongue on the front top of your mouth, producing the "n" sound), while vowels show you what shape to make your lips.

Given this alphabet, one would expect "Lee" to be spelled "리", which it's not.  It's mind-bogglingly spelled "이" ("Ee").  Here's the fascinating thing though.  In North Korea, the name Lee is actually spelled 리.  So what's that about?!

As I learned, this stems back to 1933, during the time of Japanese occupation.  As a way to rebel against Japan, occupied Korea produced a Proclamation on Korean Grammar (incidentally one main reason Christianity is so strong in Korea was also as a way to rebel against Japan and its religions).

One of the rules in this Proclamation was that Korean words should not start with the letter "L".  Thus, all the 리's became 이's (for the sake of harmony -- a fundamental value in Korea -- Korean vowels can never stand by themselves; hence the placeholder consonant "0", which isn't actually pronounced when it's before a vowel).

After the North-South division in 1945 and the subsequent war, North Korea reversed this Proclamation, insisting that South Korea "polluted" the "pure" Korean language (and even still, North Koreans consider themselves the "pure" people and South Koreans "unpure" -- or so my South Korean friends tell me).

So that's why you'll see 리's in the North but not in the South.  Of course, immigration to the West predated all of this, with the precedent already set.  So this practice of romanizing to "Lee" continued outside of South Korea.

To complicate matters further, "ㄹ" is actually both "L" and "R", leading to last names like "Rhee" as well (thanks Rich Lee!)  My Korean teacher's name is Yuri, but when she was young, her mother spelled her official romanized name as "You Lee", making her passport read "Lee (last name is always first) You Lee".  She's still understandably upset about this.

In learning more about North Korean refugees (more to come on that, as I will apparently now be in a documentary about helping North Korean refugees in Seoul), I've learned that an important piece of integration is actually helping North Koreans learn "South Korean" language!  As The New York Times reported back in 2006: "After six decades of living separated across a tightly sealed border, South and North Koreans find themselves divided by what used to be a common language, so much so that a person from one side often gets bewildered, amused, and even mistakenly angered by what a person from the other side says."  For instance, while a North Korean thinks he's saying: "I'm fine, thanks" in response to "How are you?", the same expression said in the South means, "Mind your own business!"  My US-centric favorite: the same word, "miji" means "Made in the USA" in South Korea, but "American imperialist" in the North.

So there you have it.  All you likely wanted to know about Korean last names, or at least the nagging question of why Lee is spelled 이 in South Korea.  I hope you'll now be able to sleep better at night... I know I surely will.