Four years ago I was doing pretty much the same thing I am now: staring at my computer screen and contemplating life abroad. The difference is, I was fresh from wrist surgery at Imakiire Hospital in Kagoshima, having shattered my distal radius in December 2007. How could I possibly feel nostalgic for such a time, when I was facing my own mortality for the first time ever…?

That cycling accident had been my first serious injury and the first time under the knife, and yet, I saw it as an opportunity (not just in retrospect, but at the time). I took the chance to slow down, read some running books, and blog on Japan more often. In doing so, I finished the majority of texts that had been sitting on my bookcase for many months, discovered barefoot running, and took the time to reflect on my days in Japan.

The truth is, I do miss Japan now… and I don’t. I don’t miss the bureaucracy of teaching at AEON, and being pointed at and ogled. But I miss the hot springs. I miss the safety of the country. I miss finding new adventures. Sadly, even if I were to fly back into Narita, it wouldn’t be the same. There’s only one first-time Japanese experience for everyone, and I’ve had mine. It was delightful, but the awareness it produced stuck with me, and I’m now more world weary than I was in 2006.

One thing I do miss about Japan is teaching. Not the steady paycheck or the simplicity of the job, but the students. Just like Loco in Yokohama, my soul is healed by children. It’s impossible not to feel better about yourself standing in front of a group of ten wide-eyed ignorant minds whose loftiest goals are to laugh and eat dinner. When I left AEON in 2007 I wanted something more professional, more stable. I found SNBL in Kagoshima, and it worked out… for a time. I missed the classroom, and the interaction. So I left for Thailand to try educating some different nationalities.

I’m tutoring children in San Francisco too, but it’s just not the same. My kids here are so distracted, so angry, so unconcerned about what I have to offer them. For me, it all comes back to Japan, when I was faced with that first group of Japanese college students and got a taste of what it was like for them, facing an unknown foreigner. I reveled in it.

Is this all one massive ego trip I’m describing? Perhaps, but don’t I have the right to choose a profession that would allow me to feel better about myself? Teaching in Asia does that more often than not.

More of my time has been spent checking out new Japan expat blogs and remembering what it was like, to be fresh off the boat and new to the world of the rising sun. Truthfully, Japan may be my favorite place in the world to live, even as an eternal outsider. The safety, the job, the food, the people, the adventure, and the language… all are factors pulling me back across the Pacific. I just hope I can find circumstances that will allow me to go back.

My latest article on Matador Network is now up. Here’s a taste:

Once, after a fellow English teacher and I had enjoyed a bottle of soju in Samcheok and didn’t modulate our voices during the long ride home, the bus driver pulled over, speed walked to the back of the bus, and confronted and scolded us. We learned our lesson.

How to piss off a Korean

I was never much of a photographer in high school or college. Even with the rise of Facebook and tagging, I wasn’t tempted to bring a camera to social outings and catch the photons from that sunrise to preserve for eternity on my hard drive. When I first started taking pictures abroad, I was in Japan and felt motivated to do so.

Sure, I was a rank amateur, but I suppose everyone goes through a photography phase in his life; I was lucky enough to wait on mine until I had journeyed to a country worthy of it. Japanese signs, temples, funny Engrish… all seemed laid before my camera lens, obligated to stay in place until I had captured their essence.

It was a slow process, simply lugging around the point-and-shoot my parents had bought me before I left the US and looking for something memorable to post on Facebook. Before long, though, I discovered I had quite the portfolio of hot springs, road signs, Japanese people, waterways, and bridges. Enough photos, I reasoned, to create a Flickr account and organize them for the world to see. When that portfolio expanded to Flickr’s free limit, I still felt like I had more shots out there, more to offer Internet readers.

It’s been a journey, like everything else in my life has been. I’ve used equipment most professional photographers would consider inferior, even stupid. But I don’t care, because at the time it all came down to capturing the beauty of the moment, through any means necessary. When I did finally invest in a Canon G10, I didn’t have it for more than a few months before it was stolen in New York City. Just like any other setback, it took me a while to recover, and my photos (or lack thereof) definitely showed it.

People did start to take notice. A publisher contacted me regarding one of the pictures I had taken of the Shimanami Bridges in Japan. The architect of that bridge had died and he wanted to use my shot from an adventure weekend as part of a look back on his life in England. Of course, I agreed.

It should be no secret to anyone who’s been reading Once A Traveler that when I came to Korea, I was pretty burnt out on life. No desire for pictures or crazy trips, just getting through the day with a little bit of money in my pocket. Still, I couldn’t help but snap a few funny shots with a weak Canon while walking around Uljin.

Even these, some of the most casual and unprofessional photos I’ve even taken, got the attention of a publisher at Penguin Books:

I hope you won’t mind me getting in touch but I am an editor at Penguin books and I am publishing a book of the World’s Best Restaurant & Bar Names. It will be light hearted and fun and we would love to include your photo of Pizza Thinking in our book.

You never know who’s out there. As travelers to a new land, we see things with wide eyes at first, but after weeks or months when we fall into a routine and stop looking at our world with the eyes of a child, we forget just how amazing it is to be where we are. We may forget, but those cooped up at home in their cubicles longing for escape certainly don’t.

That’s what I need to remember about living my life in San Francisco. Everything I see is unique to me, to my perspective. Everywhere I run at the time I run can’t be repeated by any runner, even Dean Karnazes. Only I can tell you what I see, what I feel, and why. I want to share my perspective. I’m sorry if I ever forgot that.

Ah yes, running. I have a stress fracture in my left foot, probably the result of getting back into the Vibrams too soon after the Christmas holidays, when I trained for three weeks in Newtons only. That’s just a guess; maybe all my mileage has been leading to this injury. The point is, I’m out of commission for a while, and it feels really unnatural.

A runner who could not run was out of his element. He would not even think of himself as an athlete; ridiculously there would be a kind of guilt about it; that was the worst part. He would begin to feel uncomfortable around his training comrades and the feeling would be mutual, like a newly wounded soldier among the embarrassed whole ones, who would not wish to be reminded of certain crap game aspects of life.
- Once A Runner, John L. Parker, Jr.

On the one hand, I fully appreciate how much more time I have to just do nothing. On the other hand, with no employment, writer’s block, and no travel on the horizon, it feels like the last of my passions is slipping away. I won’t deny I’m in a bit of a funk over it, but I’m far from beaten down or at the verge of giving up. This isn’t some Disney movie pep talk about looking for the silver lining. This is me accepting responsibility for my own life and not letting challenges get in the way of what I want out of it.

If I can’t work full time? I’ll find an alternative and learn to live with less.

If I can’t travel around the world? I’ll learn to see local things as a traveler would, to keep my mind fresh and my eyes wide open.

If I can’t run? I think this may be the deal breaker. We’ll see how my recovery proceeds.

My guilty pleasure? Browsing jobs in Seoul and imaging what it’d be like if I abandoned everything and returned to Korea as a fresh, not-so-wide-eyed teacher. Even though I can still recall everything I decided in my last days over there – not wanting to be the outsider; tired of instability; wanting a “career” of sorts – the fact remains it’s easy to think those thoughts when you’re sitting in your own apartment and a paycheck is scheduled to be deposited. My work, while enough to sustain me in the Bay Area, hasn’t lead to anything approaching permanency, and I still think like a traveler… even if I do get something, it’s not a life sentence.

I buy lottery tickets, put all my hopes in cover letters, and go about my business. I guess that’s just what I’ve come to realize about work and life: there are no shortcuts, no easy roads to success. True, some are luckier than others, but their luck comes from working with good people and being passionate about what they do. I want that. I was able to work as a successful freelancer in Austin because I spend my university years building connections that weren’t essential to my survival when I was studying, but once I was out in the workforce, they allowed me to thrive. I just need time to do the same over here.

I’m still planning that next big adventure, counting down the weeks until I turn 30, and waiting to hear from a prospective employer in San Mateo. But I’m content. Sempre tem jeito. “…there’s always a way. Don’t drive yourself crazy over stuff now, there’s always a way to work it out in the end.”

It’s only been six weeks since I took that flight from Incheon, and already my world is established. I have a job (well, series of jobs, anyway), a girlfriend, a place to stay, food in the fridge, money in the bank. I’d be lying if I said things are exactly the way I wanted them to be, but things aren’t that bad. Not that they started out that way…

Let’s go back to the beginning. A ten-hour flight between Korea and San Francisco. With the inflight entertainment system broken. I’ve said it before, but travel just seems impossibly easy at times; it’s still so inconceivable to me that I could leave what had become my home for fourteen months and fly across the world in less than a day, to a place where residents know nothing about that world or the people in it. Americans just see strange writing where I see hangul. I hear Japanese, Chinese, and Korean where some just hear gibberish. My world and my experience have grown. And there’s nothing wrong with that, but, in a way, it makes me feel as though I stand out (figuratively, not literally) more in the US than I ever did in Korea (literally, not figuratively); I’ve been to Asia. I’ve seen life on a Buddhist monastery. I’ve traveled places friends couldn’t find even if they Googled their eyes out.

Stateside, people just been getting on with their lives: making money, building bonds, getting distracted by media and consumerism. It’s pretty much as I imagined it to be during my idle time in Uljin, but it’s quite another thing to experience it firsthand. Stores are so massive over here, even compared to the largest E-Mart or Lotte Department Store. The selection is incredible, almost wasteful. I remember seeing a few bags of Pepperidge Farm cookies in my local Family Mart and feeling lucky they had been stocked that day. Now, I can just walk into any Walgreens and find twenty different kinds, spanning half an aisle.

Don’t get me wrong, I know I was pretty much connected to this consumerism even in Korea. The Internet provided access to everything I ever wanted or could conceivably want at the touch of a button. But there’s no substitute for seeing product in person: touching it, smelling it, being reminded of something by it, and finding out it’s on sale. “I didn’t know I wanted these two minutes ago, but now I desperately do!”

Trade-offs. That’s what it all comes down to. In Korea, I have financial security, healthcare, regular hours… but I also will eternally be the outsider, cut off from my American identity, removed from family. On the other hand, I have time to explore my passions. I can honestly say I felt more whole in Korea, as I had time to run, go to the gym, write (case in point; how long has it been since I updated this blog?), read, and keep up to date on the news. For some reason, those things just seem diluted over here, as if I left my interest in the land of the morning calm and the only way to regain it is to go back.

In the US, I have flexible hours, easy access to social circles, more delicious food than I care to eat, and even (recently) a companion. But it seems like everything over here is just at a faster pace than that I want to move. I’m constantly scouring the Internet looking for better opportunities. Every time I see an ad it’s like it takes up a significant amount of memory to compartmentalize and store for later; it’s possible the same thing would have happened if I had understood the subtleties of Korean advertising, but I doubt it. I just seem to constantly be moving and searching while standing still. Ironic, as I left a life of traveling around the world to feel frantic in one place.

I don’t know how things will work out. Right now, I’m living in a safe and clean but ultimately temporary place south of the city. I’m dating someone in Noe Valley. I’m working promotions with Nintendo. I’m still running like crazy. But I feel incomplete.

Anyone else returned to find themselves in the same bind?

So… Korea. Great country for mountain climbing and hiking. Not the most enthusiastic when it comes to running. That’s not to say I haven’t enjoyed a few races during my year here. It’s just Korea isn’t really built for running; jogging in urban areas is annoying outside of the approved paths. Although there are numbers of events in the bigger cities (and even my town!) the field is scarce. If you’re a decent female runner, by all means, come to Korea: you’ll probably place in the top ten at any given race.

So what is Korean running culture? I haven’t quite figured that out yet. Cheers of “FIGHTING!” and “아싸!” are all too common in the classroom and during sporting events, but what the locals yell doesn’t really define them. I could tell you running here is fueled by the popular rice wine makgeolli, a sweet alcoholic high-carb beverage enjoyed before and after physical activity, but that too seems shallow. Maybe the unnecessarily large glass trophies presented to winners, along with gift certificates to Home Plus or Lotte Mart? No, that’s not it either.

Running in Korea has given me the opportunity to make new friends – though no Korean ones, as they really aren’t big runners – through groups like Waeguks Got Runs and the Seoul Flyers. This last holiday weekend, as I ran the Busan Gwangali Bridge 10K, I couldn’t help but realize this was the perfect way to end my Korean experience (even better if I had been in shape for the half). It was nearly four years ago that I ran a bridge race in Japan in ideal conditions, discovering not only that I still had the ability to run well, but I wanted to. I wanted to push myself beyond comfort, feel the beginnings of a stitch, even agonize over stiff quadriceps after crossing the finish line. And in this case, I’m happy to say, I succeeded.

38:48 for the 10K. 3:53 min/km pace. 6:15 min/mile for you anti-metric heathens. Although I feel I could have gone faster, I’m happy leaving this country knowing it’s revitalized me in more ways than one. True, I am still bitter about a lot of the social aspects here, but health and fitness? No challenge. Korea, thank you for giving me back my legs in better condition than when I gave them to you last August. San Francisco pavement – you’re next.

When I was packing to come to Korea, I used my time in Japan to mentally work out what I would and would not be able to find. I had high hopes Dr. Pepper would be available at import shops, and knew most stores stocked familiar brand names. When it came to choosing whether I should bring a gift for my employer from home or find something local when I landed, I opted for the former. In Japan, I ducked into a Jupiter Imports at the train station and picked up some nice French chocolates for my AEON branch manager. But I knew I’d be far from any decent shopping in Uljin; best to risk bringing something that might upset my future boss’ Korean taste buds rather than falling back on what I most likely would not be able to find.

In this case, I happened to introduce my boss and his family to something I’m amazed has not reached mainstream Korea: rice crispie treats. Let me explain. Crispy rice is very common in Korea, eaten as a snack. But I believe 100% of all marshmallows are imported from the US and Singapore. As a result, not too many think to combine the two in what I’ve deemed the perfect gift and best snack that is still very Korean in itself.

If you’re thinking of bringing some from the US or Canada, you can’t go wrong with homemade rice crispie treats made with extra marshmallow. I happened to buy two boxes of the vanilla ones from a Whole Foods Bakery in Dallas. It’s not impossible to make them in Korea, either. Home Plus, a major supermarket chain, stocks Tesco-brand crispy rice cereal. And, on occasion, they have Rocky Mountain marshmallows (if not, you can always find them on Gmarket). Add a little butter from the market and you’re ready with an awesome White Day gift for your Korean girlfriend.

Lately, I’m sorry to say I’ve been feeling the former, even towards situations and people completely undeserving of my wrath:

- I discovered a sign that stated the NH Mart would be closed until 2:00 and a man felt the need to go out of his way and explain this in broken English. Instead of being grateful at his desire to help convey useful information, I couldn’t control this feeling of being patronized: “You don’t think I can read??”

- When strangers walk up to me shouting “Hello!”, I don’t even bother to distinguish the ones genuinely interested in talking and those just showing off. I just ignore them. With my clock ticking down, I can only see the latter.

- It’s affected me in the classroom as well. I don’t know exactly when Koreans get the idea that the best response to foreigners writing or speaking the smallest, simplest amount of their language is to open their eyes as wide as they can and clap, but one of my seven-year-old students did it this week when I wrote the name of the new teacher. Usually, I just write off their behavior to childhood, but the fact that it was a mirror image of the response I had witnessed from adults set me off. I was beyond peeved. Like I said, learn to deal with it; things will never change when it comes to Asia and foreign residents.

Looking to the future, I just don’t know. I keep reading news stories about the horrid unemployment rate and it occurs to me I’d be living with my parents if I hadn’t taken the leap and worked abroad. The only thing I can say for certain is that if I find myself in that situation, I’d be more comfortable returning to Korea; I may forever be an outsider here, but at least I’d be independent and answerable to no one.

I’m just uncertain and conveying that uncertainty in my writing, of course. I’m resourceful and smart, so it’s unlikely I’ll find myself homeless or unemployed for too long… I hope. I do look forward to seeing the new Couchsurfing headquarters, meeting new people, and exploring the Bay Area. Every time I see an ad for a travel job, I’m tempted to send it my resume and try another country for a year. But in my heart, I know that time has passed. I want a refrigerator stocked with food I may never eat. I want a place to hang my hat. I thought I wanted the stereotypical American Dream. And as much as I’d like to believe I’ve convinced myself it’s better to be living the life of a vagabond, day-by-day, out of a backpack, I’ve discovered a good balance of each is called for. I want a place to call home and a house to return to after my travels, but I also don’t want to be suffocating in a 9-5 job without the flexibility to take a week off if I feel like driving to Yellowstone or spending time with a friend. So I guess I do strive for the impossible, but isn’t that part of being human?

With American soil soon to be under my running feet, I’ve been asking myself the same question a lot lately: who will I be when I’m not what I am here, in Korea? It should come as no shock to anyone that we all have different personas for dealing with different stages of our lives; you’re never the person you were as a child, nor in high school, in university, working that first job. Some might attribute this as merely growing up, becoming more mature. To an extent, this is very true. But it doesn’t explain how we might revert to our high school personalities when encountering an old friend, and playing the role of the youngest son during holidays and family gatherings. We each have a unique identity, but one I believe is very much a part of our surroundings.

By that token, the me that left the US in 2006 was not the same me after a few months in Japan. I learned to adapt, speak a new language, eat different food, and embrace a foreign culture. I liked that me. It suited me. As much I’d like to have taken him back to Texas in 2008, he wouldn’t come. Not without bringing the entirety of Japan and its people back with him. It’s like they say: you can’t go home again. Not only has home and everything around it changed, but you no longer define yourself solely by the world that once was your family and house. Well, to follow that logic through, you can’t really go anywhere twice.

I’m not leaving Korea. I’m leaving everything I’ve known and the person I’ve become behind. That’s a scary concept.