Catching up with a friend visiting Seoul, he quoted something he’d overheard from a Hollywood screenwriting stalwart:

“No matter where you are, your work in your twenties is always an apprenticeship.”

The unusually serious tone of my friend’s voice as he repeated what he had heard noted how deep a chord the comment had struck—and signaled a key shift in his attitude that was clearly noticeable after six months since last seeing each other.

__

Six months is as short as it is long; enough time to learn a new skill, yet not nearly long enough to master it. A strong criticism I have for myself in my time here is impatience—the desire to act quickly without thinking slowly, as if expecting the wisdom for navigating life to spring magically and immediately.

This lack of patience reared its head during first few months of teaching. Why aren’t they listening, why can’t I get a straight answer from other teachers, why am not good at this work. My mind so deep in the daily weeds of classes, I was missing the bigger picture. The need to understand new cultural norms. New relationship-building. Empathizing and forming trust with students.

At a certain point, the lack of immediate results morphed into the nascent form of something far worse: a passive-ironic attitude that tried to shifted away the blame. They don’t listen to other teachers either, I’m only here for a year so relationships are less important, this isn’t my future career so I should care less. In truth, this attitude failed to take responsibility for my own shortcomings. Luckily, the long winter break offered a chance to reset and see that the greatest impediment to learning was my own impatience.

A famous Roman once said, “Do not think that what is hard for you to master is humanly impossible; and if it is humanly possible, consider it to be within your reach.” But there is a fine line between setting impossible goals for motivation and simply biting off more than you can chew. In this case, perhaps more apt to say chewing and swallowing too quickly.

Resetting and starting anew with a longer-term perspective hopefully will prevent against burnout and self-doubt. I need to imagine myself years into the future, thinking back to time in Korea—the missteps and successes given equal weight. I think then, the illusion of a rushed present will prove to be false, because the greatest lessons cannot be achieved in a day or week. This reminds of an old proverb from an East Asian religions class: If the woodcutter stopped after one or two strokes of his axe and questions, ‘Why won’t this tree fall,’ he will never fell the tree. 

It’s as the Greek poet said: Become who you are by learning who you are. Like the tortoise, not the hare.