Don't Take Your Story Too Seriously

While working on getting my certification as a creativity coach, I’ve been reading The Art of Possibility by Rosamund Stone Zander & Benjamin Zander. In a chapter based around the idea of not taking yourself too seriously, an anecdote is shared that had this sentence: “She stopped taking herself and her story so seriously…” The inclusion of “story” stood out to me. I have heard many times not to take myself too seriously. But reading about not taking one’s story too seriously hit me in a more nuanced way.

First off, this is not to say that you should dismiss your story, whether it be your life story or the stories inside you bursting to be expressed. What I took from this phrase has more to do with the stories we tell ourselves that stop us from taking risks, going on adventures, chasing after the things we desire. Stories like “I’m too old,” or “I don’t have enough training,” or “I’m just not like that,” or “I’ve been too hurt by my past.” Each of these stories might hold truth, and there is something to accepting some of these realities. But each of these truths can then be weaponized against ourselves and our dreams. We can start to limit ourselves, turn down offers, delay getting started, because of the story we tell ourselves about any given situation.

But what if we realized that these stories are just that? Stories. And specifically, stories that we are telling ourselves. What if there was a different way to narrate that story? What if there is more to the story? “I’m too old” can become “I have experience that is an advantage over younger folks.” “I don’t have enough training” can become “I’m going to sign up for a class today!” “I’m just not like that” can become “My identity is plastic, so maybe there’s room for me to change here.” “I’ve been too hurt by my past” can become “And I can take a first step to healing, however small.”

Moving forward, I want to be mindful not just of the times when I’m taking myself too seriously, but also when I’m giving more credence to the stories I tell myself than they are due. Questioning my own stories could be the key I need to break free from stagnation and actually dare to push myself towards my desires and dream life.

On "Balance"

Why do we say “It’s all about balance!” as if it’s just that simple? As if it’s some sort of "zen” conclusion easily won? As if balance weren’t a working of the muscles? As if balance weren’t tiring and requiring energy and focus?

Have you tried to stand on one foot for a long time? Or tried to balance a broom by its top-end in your hand? Have you seen a baby finally learning to walk? As adults, we forget that the balance to stand or walk came after hours upon hours of practice, falling, failing, and trying again.

Take 2020: the fears of a pandemic combined with social isolation, plus fights for racial equality, plus (in California at least) a freak lightning storm that leads to the state being on fire, plus the upcoming election, plus kids at home if you’re a parent, plus plus plus plus. “It’s all about balance” feels almost laughable in the face of this stack of things we are being asked to hold.

So, sure, it may all be about balance, but remember that balance is hard work. It only comes with ease after you’ve put in the time to master it. And if lately, things seem to keep toppling over, if you seem to keep toppling over, please show yourself the compassion you would a toddler just learning to walk. For we are facing a balancing act in 2020 we’ve never, ever had to face before.

What's in a name?

When I was younger, I hated my last name. Not in Korean, mind you. It flowed and made sense when spoken in the context of its home language. But in the mouths of non-Koreans, in particular those who had not a clue about how to pronounce Asian names in general (“it’s just so confusing!”), the name felt clunky. An intrusion. An interruption. An inconvenience. Or even worse, when it flowed too easily, it felt like an onomatopoeia. The kind people will use to disparage Asian names. Saying “My name is Min Kahng” felt like a punchline to a racist joke.

How to explain the pronunciation of 강? How to explain to non-linguists that that K is more like a G, but aspirated? That the “ah” is actually brighter than you think?

But it’s ok. I don’t need you to pronounce it 강. Kahng is an acceptable approximation. In English, it will *always* be mispronounced. My own attempts are colored by my American accent anyway.

I don’t even care if you get it wrong (once or twice) and make it rhyme with “hang.” Or if it’s misspelled (I get it. You’re used to seeing “Khan,” cuz... Genghis...? Star Trek, I guess? So that H gets tossed about. Sometimes even ending up on the tail of my first name. The most egregious spelling I’ve gotten? “Kahagn”). As long as you’re open to me correcting you, and I promise I’ll try to do so gracefully (for the first couple of times at least...), we’re good.

But give it an eye roll? Nuh-uh...
Talk about it like it’s ruining your day? No thank you.
Make it about you and turn my last name into an excuse to talk through all your insecurities around public speaking or name recollection? I’m a busy man, can I have my name back, please...?

강 is a river.
강 is strong.
강 is as complicated as my relationship with the man from whom I inherited it.
강 holds a history of dynasties and kingdoms that Kahng could never hold.

But Kahng has its own history too. A history of reclaiming something. Of finding confidence. Kahng is what I’ve got. In its imperfectly anglicized form.
Kahng rhymes with “song.”
Kahng is a needle. It slices into your comfortable tongue and causes you mild discomfort.
Kahng is a crowbar, wedging open space for itself to belong.

I wish I could give you a Pinterest quote about how proud I am now of Kahng. My levels of pride, love, frustration fluctuate every day. But at the very least, I no longer hate my last name. And I’ll be damned if I let you make me feel ashamed about it.

And this isn’t just about my name. But my name’s siblings and cousins and third cousins twice removed, distant relatives from other continents. Give any, any of them ‘tude, and you will see just how strong a river this 강 can be.