Dad was giving me advice.
This time, the topic was dating.
I usually never, at least willingly, play the role of receiver, but that day it came to fruition thanks to that great intergenerational equalizer of Korean men:
Soju.
He was telling me that if at first I didn’t succeed, to try, try again.
And if I didn't succeed?
Try harder.
And if I still didn't succeed?
KEEP TRYING.
It worked for my dad's love life.
It also worked for his business pursuits ... well, sort of (story for another time).
It never worked for me, no matter what field I was standing in.
He could never understand—he chased down everything he ever wanted.
Of course, it helped that the times he lived in moved at a snail's pace compared to the speed of today.
Still, I took that advice and ran with it.
Yet the faster I ran, the harder I tried, the further away everything got.
'Just one more mile,' I told myself.
The end is within sight.
It was.
I never made it as a pianist.
So I stepped onto a different field, became a teacher instead.
Like my father, I would start a successful business—only, it would be a detour until my eventual return to the stage.
Ten years later, I'm still running in place.
I have no one to blame but myself, I know I could make more money if I got serious about it.
But that would turn it into something I hate, and that's a price I'm not willing to pay.
I'm finally in a good place, even if my finances need to be in a better one.
So I picked up the pen.
Mostly out of desperation, trying to write myself out of a midlife crisis.
I'm not naïve enough to blindly believe it will all work out just because I'm dedicated.
Simplistic truths lead you to failure, unless you get really lucky.
Still, I think I have a chance.
It's a race I feel I can win, because I keep passing myself each day.
In a way, my dad was right after all.
