Kimchi-Tizzy

You know that moment at Costco when you look at that super-large whatever and think, "Oh no, that's much too much," but sometimes it falls in the cart anyway? Now I have a big bucket of Jongga Kimchi, proclaimed to be Korea's favorite sliced napa cabbage. Crunch, crunch.

Of course I'm sick of it already (no more please!). But in a weird way it has become an unlikely metaphor for changes in my life. Now, when I look at my green-topped kimchi bucket with the cute handle it brings me back to a different time, and then the time after that. 

When I visited Korea years ago I was in the midst of my decades-long discontent. Went half-way around the world to drink alone (again) in a hotel room. Could have been Baltimore for all I cared (and many times it was). I remember feeling very tall walking down the street in Seoul, but it really was just the view from underground. Even when my hosts drove me up a mountain to eat mysterious things in little glass bowls I never left the lowlands. Like kimchi fermenting underground, it was all darkness and then some.

Years later I'm unearthed and sober, breathing the air way up here. It's a new design for living, and it includes enjoying the kimchi found on my plate. Now curiosity kicks complacency's ass, and amazing moments remain attainable--even on cloudy, nine degree days (sort of). 

Even with the pandemic muddling the path and muddying the attitude, life is transformed. My life, like Jongga kimchi, has bite, purpose, varied & colorful textures, and promotes loud music.  

I'll probably end up eating more out of that big bucket, what with its positive fermentation. But if I don't, I'm happy to just watch it sit in the fridge.