The Journey Begins

My journey to Korea didn’t begin with the peaceful rhythm of temple bells or the calm of mountain air. It began in an airport terminal, surrounded by thousands of stranded travelers and a broken airline computer system.

When the Journey Almost Ended Before It Began

American Airlines had suffered a massive radar and software failure the day I was set to leave. My flight out of Nashville was delayed first by technical problems, then by storms rolling across the U.S. Luckily, my connecting flight from Dallas was delayed too.

After sitting on a plane for two hours in Dallas and then being deplaned, I realized this wasn’t a minor setback—their radar systems were down. Thousands of flights were being canceled, and the terminals were packed with exhausted travelers trying to stay patient.

In that sea of people—really just one very long customer service line—I met a few faces that helped pass the time: Elliot from Mississippi, Johnny from Houston, and Pam from Virginia Beach. We were all headed somewhere—some home, some on adventure—Tokyo, Manila, Seoul, and beyond. Over the next three and a half hours in line for hotel and meal vouchers, we swapped stories, laughed at the absurdity of it all, and reminded each other that there wasn’t much to do but wait.

Smiling Through the Pain

Grand Master Donald Kimm always talked about smiling through the pain.He loved to practice the painful sets—especially Ji Ab Sool, the pressure-point techniques—and he’d always find a way to make you laugh right as the pain set in.

A customer service line in Dallas was its own kind of painful test. I was supposed to be halfway to Korea, ready to begin my trip. Instead of choosing anger or frustration, we chose to laugh, to keep each other entertained, and to find enjoyment in a moment that was completely out of our control.

Anchored by Purpose

After a good night’s sleep, a strong breakfast, and another trip through Dallas airport security, we were finally back on the plane and ready to fly to Korea. The mood was joyful—the pilots announced that it was going to be a nice, smooth ride to Seoul.

As we lingered at the gate, though, the anxiety crept back. The problems weren’t solved. Sure enough, the pilot came over the intercom: they were waiting to replace the computer on the plane.

While technicians worked, frustration hit hard. I remember thinking, if they deplane us again, I’m done. I’ll rent a car and go home. That wave of homesickness, exhaustion, and doubt felt heavy. But Amber was my anchor in that moment—her message reminding me that everything at home was okay, and that this journey mattered.

Chaos and Connection

When we finally took off, I found myself seated next to Johnny—the punk-rocking veteran I’d met earlier in the chaos. By coincidence, our seats had been moved to the same row.

He’d been stationed in Korea during part of his Army career and spent several years living there afterward. He carried a wild mix of stories, optimism, and energy that kept the mood light. His carefree attitude and love for the place I was heading helped me relax and accept the chaos that’s out of our control. His excitement for my trip helped me rediscover my own.

The Weight of the Journey

Eventually, we were airborne.

Somewhere in that climb, I started to feel the true weight of what I was doing. I wasn’t just heading to another seminar or a vacation. I was flying halfway around the world—to explore the roots of Han Mu Do, to train, to write, and to find a deeper connection to the art and the culture that shaped it.

When the plane lifted from the runway, I leaned back, closed my eyes, and finally exhaled. After days of delay and doubt, fifteen hours of flying, a few movies, some sleep, and a lot of Ki breathing later—we landed in Incheon.

✈️ Next Stop: Seoul

The rhythm had begun- jet lag, food, and a huge city.