Life changes as much as we think it does.

After that day, I passed the medical licensing exam without a hitch and became a surgeon. I owe it to the previous head of surgery, who, despite our confrontations during the strike, generously mentored my dissertation. After leaving the hospital, I became a civil servant, and now I work as the director of the health promotion department at the Haeundae District Public Health Center.

People often ask me why I chose to be a civil servant with a modest salary over being a well-paid doctor. Until now, I’ve brushed off those questions with vague answers. But it seems the right time to reveal the real reason. My decision to enter public service was because I couldn’t join the military.

I owe my life to being born in a good country. I wonder if I could have survived and lived like this if I had been born elsewhere with a congenital heart defect. It probably wouldn’t have been easy. That’s why I wanted to give back to this country that nurtured me. In my youth, that meant enlisting in the military. I wanted to fulfill my duty like other men my age. However, my heart surgery disqualified me from military service. It has always been a heavy burden on my heart, leading me to a career in public service.

In the bureaucracy, I discovered something unexpectedly rewarding. Among my duties is a service called “Mobile Healthcare,” which uses smartphones and smart bands to manage the health of those at risk for chronic diseases. I am also preparing a service called “Senior Health Management Using ICT,” a concept expanded to manage the health of the elderly. Recently, I’ve been working on safely conducting remote consultations for people in self-isolation at the COVID-19 screening centers.

Thus, I am once again forging my dream of telemedicine. It’s the same dream that I had to set aside when facing reality, despite starting a startup with twelve employees ten years ago. Looking back, my surgical training and public service path were also journeys towards that dream, granting me the ‘clinical experience’ and ‘systematic organization’ I had so desperately wanted.

Now, as I approach forty, I realize a lot of time has passed since that boy with congenital heart disease first looked out the hospital window towards the medical library. If I continue to stay healthy and live as long as the average life expectancy, I might just be at the midpoint of my life.

I’ve long debated whether my life was worth writing about. To warrant a book, one must have either contributed significantly to the world or achieved something notable in a particular field. In contrast, my life has been deeply personal. I hesitated even when the publisher first proposed it.

After much deliberation, I began writing with the hope of leaving a tangible record of my life for my daughter. The process of writing itself turned out to be quite personal. Yet, here it is, a whole book that has been published.

It may not be extraordinary, but I have tried to live without shame. I’ve strived to discern when to be warm and when to be cold. I wanted to be generous to those weaker than me, and firm against those who were unjust. Whether as a patient and doctor, son and father, or employee and boss, I’ve tried to be neither cruel nor craven.

I have not always been right. Good experiences were just that, and regrets were merely disappointing. I hope that these records, in some way, will be helpful in my daughter’s life. With that sincere intent, I calmly transferred these memories into writing. Reflecting on the past has highlighted three main themes in my life.

First, a life of learning.
Everyone struggles with various issues, be it career choices, financial problems, or relationships. For me, health was always the primary concern. Unresolved issues lead to mental stress. While the causes of stress may seem different, they are fundamentally the same: not knowing how to solve the problem at hand. Therefore, learning is the most fundamental way to relieve stress.

Even when things are going reasonably well, learning can help one advance further. There are always better ways to do the same job, but one might not know them and simply settle, believing their current choice is the best. Often, what one thought was the best may later turn out not to be.

Accepting that anyone can make mistakes is also important in a life of learning. This includes peers, teachers, clergy, doctors, and even parents.

However, just because you are sure someone else is wrong, doesn’t mean you always need to confront them. There are three reasons for this: first, you might be wrong; second, what you think is ‘wrong’ might just be ‘different’; and third, a critical view doesn’t necessarily have to lead to conflict. Feelings and responses should be separated.

Moreover, a life of learning values experience over possession. It’s about spending time and money on gaining experiences rather than acquiring things. Think about it: the pleasure of buying things versus the lasting and deep impact of

learning through experiences. There’s no learning in possession, but there is in experience.

Second, a life of standing up.
Life doesn’t always go as planned. I was born with a health condition that wasn’t my choice. But complaining wouldn’t change anything, and no one else was going to live my life for me. So, I decided to live it without regrets. Surprisingly, doors of opportunity began to open that I hadn’t seen before.

On the other hand, giving up can be a brave choice at times. Giving up can provide the breathing room needed for a bigger leap forward. Such decisions require considerable resolve and awareness of reality. Contrary to popular belief, giving up is not always a sign of weakness. In fact, true weakness is the indecisiveness that stems from not accepting reality.

There are times when even giving up doesn’t seem like a viable solution, and the situation seems hopeless. At such times, it might be better to look back rather than forward. Think back just one year—did you anticipate what’s happening now? Likely not. Similarly, it’s impossible to know exactly what a year from now will look like. One thing is certain: giving up and closing off all possibilities is the most foolish choice one can make.

Third, a life of gratitude.
Today, I’ve enjoyed many things thanks to others. I was sheltered from the rain and wind because someone built a house, and I ate a delicious meal because someone farmed diligently. Of course, those who built houses and farmed did so to meet their own needs, but the fact remains that they solved problems I couldn’t have handled alone. That alone is enough reason to live with gratitude.

Furthermore, what I think of as helping others can, depending on the viewpoint, be seen as something I should be grateful for. I used to think being a doctor was about helping patients, but without patients, the profession itself wouldn’t be necessary. What seems like giving at first glance can, from another angle, be receiving.

In truth, gratitude benefits oneself the most. Living a life of gratitude allows one to lead a mentally healthier and more abundant life. While I can’t control whether others are grateful to me, I can choose to be grateful to them. Having control over more aspects of your life can make it much more enjoyable. One of those controllable aspects is gratitude.

Joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure—all the ups and downs and chaotic emotions of life ultimately gather around a grateful heart. I tried to learn, and when I fell, I tried to stand up again. But looking back, only memories for which I should be grateful remained. I was grateful to be able to learn, to stand up. Even the memories of harsh winds that once shook me, in hindsight, were growing pains that helped me grow. And so, I am grateful for them too. Now I realize that these were all things to be grateful for.

For the first time, I methodically wrote down my entire life. It wasn’t just for the sake of writing a book; it was a valuable experience to reflect on myself. Finally, I looked at what I had written so far on my computer screen, leaning back in my chair. Then, a clear and impressive proposition of life emerged, like the figures seen only in aerial photographs of the Nazca Lines. It was simply this: life changes as much as we think it does.

If you learn, there is plenty to learn in life. If you stand up, no matter how desperate the situation, you can stand. If you choose to be grateful, you can find gratitude in every moment. If I can fully convey just these three things to my daughter through this book, I would wish for nothing more.

Now, I plan to take my six-year-old daughter to the nearest bookstore. We’ll spend an hour or two as usual, flipping through children’s books. Then, I’ll suddenly take her to the section where my book is displayed. I’ll pick up the top book from the neatly stacked pile and tell her that this is the book I wrote for her. After paying for it along with other selected books and placing it in a paper bag, we’ll bring it home and place it in the most visible part of the living room bookshelf.

Whenever she’s upset and doesn’t want to talk to me, or even if many years have passed and I’m no longer in this world, she’ll be able to pull it from the shelf at any time. It will allow her to reflect on learning, resilience, and gratitude. It will help her realize that life changes as much as we think it does, and allow her to feel the thrilling nature of the life she’s been given.

Fall 2020, Haeundae