Round 3

In 48 hours, I'll board a plane to Chicago. In 63 hours, I'll land at Incheon International. Never before did I really envision a third year in Korea (or a first year, for that matter), but here I am. All packed up. And, true to form, feeling sick as a dog just in time for my new adventure.

And I say adventure because that's what I enjoy so much about Korea: no matter how much you think you have it all figured out, no matter how linguistically apt your tongue, no matter how adventurous your palate, no matter how rampant your wanderlust, or keen your eyes for the details of life in eastern Asia, Korea is always an adventure. 

It's what kept me coming back for a second year, and it's what brings me back for a third. Korea is as exotic as it is familiar, chaotic yet sensible, equal parts disgusting and delicious, repulsive and remarkable, and almost always both forgetful and forgiving. I've spent two years here, two hard years that, looking back on them, feel more like ten. And yet, I have a feeling that, no matter how long I stay, I'll truly never have this place figured out. Try as I may. After two years, this would appear to be a reason to leave. Quite the contrary. At this moment in time, it's a reason to stay.

And staying is not something I've executed well in the last 5 months. Upon returning to the United States last fall, just as I had done the previous fall, I half-heartedly feigned a list in my head, a list of all the faces I should see, places I should go, luxuries I should soak up, foods with which I should regain some level of familiarly, stories I can (and cannot) tell. 

I might as well have shredded that list. These 5 months have been incredible, if only for the fact that there was no such list. There is no set quota of friends and family to see, have a beer with, spend a week with, take a trip with, no food that I'll miss too much over the next year to appease my palate with, no sensible time at which to wake up, sleep, study Korean, read a book, visit friends, go for a run, or do any of the things you do when the vast majority of your friends and family are inevitably busier than you. There's no limit to the number of miles you can log on your vehicle (the blue van has absorbed over 14,000 miles in under 6 months).

There was no list, there was no quota. There were family and friends (especially those of you int the Minneapolis/St.Paul, Madison, Milwaukee, and Chicago regions), and there was almost no sense of time. Anyway, I can sense this getting vaguer as I get softer in my praise for all of you, so it's time to wrap it up. I'm equal parts excited to get back to that combination of familiarity and mystery that is the Republic of Korea and equal parts lamenting and appreciating the fact that I have numerous goodbyes that have and have not yet happened as I leave for another year abroad.

Upon the sudden death of his 27-year old son, a very close family friend of ours from my early adolescence visited my father's house a few weeks ago. Of course, he emotionally lamented his family's loss. More importantly, and amazingly, however, he celebrated the life that his son did live, because it was a life lived for others, a life in which he was able to, for (hopefully) better or worse, affect all of those around him. "There are so many lonely, self-pitying people in this world," he observed, but "he affected everyone around him. He gave himself to people."

A heavy thank-you to all of you who give yourself to me and allow me to give myself to you. It's been amazing to see that, after several years apart, we are all still able to give as much to each other as we ever were. Now it's off to Korea, where I hope to give as much of myself to both the expats and natives of the Korean peninsula.

It's time for Round 3.