The art of returning, part 2
Appreciating the sting that change can bring
A few newsletters ago, I was writing to you from the other side of the world, attempting to make sense of a long-awaited experience I was right smack in the middle of: Returning to Korea.
As I mentioned in part one, the city of Seoul holds great significance for my family.
It’s where my son spent the first two years of his life with an incredible foster family.
It’s where David and I waited for him for two uncertain months.
It’s where some things painfully ended and other things beautifully began.
Upon our first return last month, I was feeling all the things.
I was comforted by what was familiar, AND grieving what had changed, AND anxious over JeeWoo’s reactions, AND amazed that we were there — together — from start to finish this time.
I knew I’d have a strong mix of feelings with this experience and that many things would look and feel different. I mean, I’m no stranger to the weirdness that returning to old places can bring.
When we moved back to Colorado, after two years in Dusseldorf, Germany, home didn’t feel like home. Family felt like home, of course, but I didn’t quite know who I was anymore and familiar things didn’t feel the same. For like a year. That was so weird.
When we went back to visit The Dorf, it almost felt blank. When we weren’t with friends, it felt…boring, and not as charming as I remembered it. That was strange.
When I first drove past my childhood home, shortly after my parents had moved, I couldn’t not park in the driveway. And as I nonchalantly looked through the huge front window (We’re talking pressing my forehead and hands against the glass like it was no big deal!), I couldn’t believe the walls had already been painted. And then…when it sunk in…THAT SOMEONE ELSE WAS LIVING THERE, I got my nosy butt OUTTA THERE. Oof! That was a close one.
While you may not relate to these exact scenarios (You mean you’ve never peered through a stranger’s window?), I know you know the feeling of expecting one thing and being faced with another.
It’s like settling into that restaurant you’re a regular at and suddenly your go-to dish — the one you’ve been pining for — is off the menu. Or hitting that bar you frequent on Fridays and finding your favorite bartender got fired. It’s a sour surprise, you know?
Or what about the other side of the coin? What about when you know something is coming? You think you’re prepared for it because you’ve had time to grasp it and process it.
But then…
The moment strikes…
And that person / place / thing / feeling is gone.
It hurts.
Whether it’s a quick prick to the finger kind of pain or a gaping hole in your heart type of agony, it’s unsettling.
And it doesn’t matter how or when it happens, how small or big it is, or how seasoned you are with it.
Change will always sting.
Especially at first.
That’s how those first few days in Seoul felt.
After anxiously wondering and mentally preparing for months…
After journaling on the plane about open expectations…
I thought I was armored.
But returning to the same hotel we stayed at in 2020 had me feeling out of sorts.
I thought it’d feel magical. I thought we’d be able to introduce JeeWoo to Michael, a super kind staffer-turned-friend who we talked to almost every day for five weeks. He knew our whole story. He couldn’t wait to meet our boy. But…
He was gone.
I thought we’d able to show JeeWoo and my pops-in-law the jaw-dropping, top-floor lounge that we closed out almost every day in. But…
It was now closed.
I thought I’d have time to escape to our hotel’s coffee shop patio or the gorgeous, spacious lobby for a good few hours with my laptop. I expected to have an immediate, mind-expanding, comfort-zone-busting, BIG story to tell. That’s surely what kept happening last time! But…
It never felt right.
(I wanted so badly to be alone — like I was so often last time — but I also didn’t want to miss anything. I wanted to cease all the moments and memories, no matter how loud my introverted side was screaming.)
I thought I’d be bursting with gratitude that we were finally all together in a place where David and I spent so much time waiting and wondering. And gosh, I was grateful. But…
I was also grieving.
And with that, I felt tremendous guilt and confusion, because guess what I was missing?
Life before parenting.
That was the LAST thing I expected to feel, especially in a place where all I did was long to finally become a mom. But now that I look back, I can see why I felt that way.
Just like the smell of geraniums brings me right back to summer memories at that childhood home I later trespassed (Oopsies!), every sight, smell, and sound of that hotel was tagging at my memory. It was transporting me to a time that was not only full of freedom, but the last time I was the whole version of me.
The last drops of me and only me — before I became a mother — were left in that very place.
Had we brought JeeWoo back to that hotel after custody, perhaps I would’ve felt different upon my first return. Maybe the line between those two identities would’ve been blurred.
But it was bewildering to be back in a place where the BIG change hadn’t actually happened. It’s as if the last remnants of that season of my life had been frozen in time — right inside that hotel. It’s like a ghost of me had been waiting to see me.
And boy, did she haunt me at first.
All she did was remind me of what this momentous return was not, instead of wrapping me up in what it was. She gripped so tightly to the way things were, she had no space for what could be.
One example of this was our return to the Madang Flower Cafe.
Before we even left Colorado, I was picturing JeeWoo delighting over every detail of a place that went down as one of my all-time favorite locations on this planet.
I could hear him gasping over the tiny succulents for sale and begging to keep a mini bouquet. I could see his nose glued to all the fresh blooms. I saw all of us laughing and smiling as we indulged in late-morning lattes and life-changing cheesecake.
Here’s what actually happened:
By the time we stumbled upon it (The winding village of Ikseon-dong is basically a maze!), we weren’t in melt-into-the-moment and look-at-all-the-little-things mode. We were all hungry. And I’m not talking cake ‘n’ coffee hungry. I’m talking GIVE-ME-BEEF HANGRY.
Then, all I did was ask JeeWoo if he wanted to take a peek inside with me, and he fell to the ground crying. As David lifted him onto his shoulders, I ran in to scope it out real quick. I expected to be taken aback, just as I was used to. But…
Within seconds, all those expectations went up in flowery flames.
It looked totally different. I don’t know if they were in the middle of redecorating or what, but it was almost bare and hardly anyone was there. It just didn’t feel the same. That was sad!
Later on, while trying to relive yet another vivid memory, I looked up THE coolest bookstore I couldn’t WAIT to return to and especially show to JeeWoo.
But guess what the listing said?
“Permanently closed.”
This sort of thing kept happening a lot those first few days. Clearly, I was clutching to old moments and wishing they could be replayed. And when they couldn’t be brought back, I was disappointed.
But here’s the thing:
Some things just need to remain crystallized in our memory and only in our memory. They need not be pulled from the past.
This reminds me of a dream I had about my uncle and grandpa, who both passed away in 2010. I’ll never forget seeing them both sitting in the corner of a room — purposely distanced from everyone — with the weirdest looking skin and the saltiest of vibes.
My grandpa held a newspaper in front of his face the whole time, so all I could see were his hands, which were very swollen and NOT conducive for page turning. It looked like he was wearing gloves of his own hands. And my uncle, who looked pissed the whole time, had skin drooping from his neck.
Neither of them wanted to be there, and they weren’t even remotely the same people I remembered them being.
Here was my takeaway:
While it was hard to accept them both being gone, their time in the flesh was done. They weren’t meant to come back or stay here forever. It wouldn’t have been good for anyone.
Now, if THAT story isn’t THE weirdest way to segue into the beauty that comes from the sting of change, I don’t know what is.
But here’s what I’m getting at:
Change is hard — especially when it involves loss and especially when it’s fresh. With the gift of time, however, things start to feel better. The pain fades away. New stories are written.
And.
When you DO feel the sting of change, that’s the beginning of something new and good. You have no idea that the goodness is happening in that very moment, but that right there is the genesis of growth, baby.
It’s the initiation of strength.
It’s the basis of LIFE.
Can you imagine if nothing ever changed? What if we never aged? What if things never ended? And trees never grew? And leaves stayed the same color? And caterpillars stayed caterpillars? And like…George Washington was still here? And no room was made for new things?
Gosh. We do everything we can to avoid the discomfort of change, but if life had no surprises, pain, or closing curtains, we’d all go insane! I mean, look at Bill Murray in Groundhog Day. He goes certifiably nuts!
So.
Although I was whining up there about how all those things had changed and memories failed to be replayed, I’m so happy that my comforts and expectations crashed and burned, because:
In the end, even better things happened.
No, we didn’t see Michael at the hotel, but we did make a new friend. Her name was Bella. She wrote JeeWoo little notes on the sleeves of the hot chocolate and lemonade she would bring him. She gave him a balloon and the biggest hug on the last day we were there.
No, we didn’t live our best lives at the Flower Cafe, but we did find a hidden gem of an Italian place with just as much charm, some world-stopping pasta (WITH BEEF BULGOGI!), and new memories on the side.
No, we didn’t get to go to that one Arc n Book store, but we did get to go to a new location in a totally different part of town that was a first-time visit for all of us. It was a wonderful day marked with many enjoyable surprises — including the moment JeeWoo danced under the arches.
No, I didn’t get the proper time (or juicy, solo freedom) to write an overthought newsletter like I’m doing now, but I did get the comfort-zone-busting opportunity to whip up something quickly and send it as is. That was BIG for me.
You know what else was big? Like the biggest thing of all of this whole entire trip?
Watching JeeWoo.
For months leading up, I wondered how he would feel returning to Korea. I wondered if he’d remember certain things. Mostly, I wondered how he would react to reuniting with his foster mom. I assumed it would be a little traumatic and was fully prepared for ALL the post-meeting meltdowns.
But you know what? The kid loved it. ALL of it. (Well, everything but the walking!) He was in his element. And our meeting was too special for words and something I will, believe it or not, keep private.
I’ll tell you this, though: After our time together, he was happier than I’ve ever seen him, which is like…next-level happy, because he is BURSTING with joy ‘n’ noise on the regular. But I think this trip gave him clarity. I think he knows that he is SO loved — from all directions, from many people.
And if he’s somehow reading this someday, I hope he knows that even though the start of parenting came with a sting, it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with me, and how, well, everything was changing.
It was uncomfortable and a little panic-inducing at first, but that’s how ALL the best things start out. And this, oh THIS thing called being JeeWoo’s mom, is the BEST change that’s ever happened to me.
If you’re still with me (WOOO-EEE this was a DOOZIE!!!), I hope you found a piece of you somewhere in this. I hope it inspired you, comforted you, or cracked something open for you.
Until next time,
Cracked open and crying 🥲. This is just beautiful, and such a perfect encapsulation of the transformative, never-go-back experience of becoming a parent. And that dancing in the bookstore pic!!
Thank you for sharing💗I'm inspired.