In korea, I'm just an ordinary man in his 40s.

I don't stand out here.

I'm not young, not successful, and not particularly interesting in my own society.

When a foreigner lives next door, we naturally become curious about their life.

Not because they are special-

but because they are different from us

Maybe life works the same way online.

What is ordinary is one place

can quietly become a story somewhere else.

I’ve failed before.

In business.

In marriage.

I’m not sharing this for drama or sympathy.

It’s simply part of my life.

For a long time, I believed success would give my life meaning.

I chased money, stability, and the idea of “getting it right.”

Some things didn’t work out.

And that’s okay.

What matters more is what comes after—

the quiet days that follow failure,

when no one is watching

and life continues anyway.

My Life Now

These days, I live alone.

Not in isolation—

but in a quiet kind of independence.

I share my days with my dog, Hawon.

We walk together, eat together, and return home together.

I work at a veterinary clinic.

It’s not a glamorous job,

but it keeps me grounded and connected to real life.

My days are simple.

Predictable, even.

And for the first time in a long while,

that feels enough.

From Money to Meaning

My pace has changed.

There was a time when I chased money.

I believed it would solve everything—

give my life direction, confidence, and value.

I worked harder, moved faster,

and ignored the quiet signs that something was off.

These days, my pace is different.

I practice traditional Korean bamboo flute, daegeum.

It teaches me patience and breath.

I draw.

Slowly, imperfectly.

It teaches me how to look instead of rush.

I read books.

Not to collect knowledge,

but to sit with ideas a little longer.

None of this is preparation for success.

It’s simply my way of understanding myself—

without needing to prove anything to anyone.

Language Is Not the Point

My English isn’t perfect.

Sometimes it’s awkward.

Sometimes it’s slow.

But I don’t see language as the point anymore.

What matters more is the intention to connect—

to share a life, a routine, a way of seeing the world.

We live in an age where tools exist to help us meet halfway.

AI is one of them.

I don’t use it to pretend I’m someone else.

I use it so my thoughts can travel a little further than I can alone.

This blog exists because I decided to speak anyway.

Why I Write This Blog

I’m not writing this blog to teach anyone how to live.

I’m not here to offer advice, success stories,

or answers to big questions.

This is simply a record.

Of a Korean man in his 40s,

living alone, working, exercising,

learning music and drawing late in life,

and slowly paying attention to his own days.

In my own country, I’m ordinary.

Almost invisible.

But maybe across borders,

we can become something else—

familiar strangers,

or even quiet friends.

If you’re curious about how an ordinary life looks

from a different place,

you’re welcome to stay.