The simple act of bending at the waist

In 2011, my life has much resembled that of a retired person--I am well compensated for working very few hours a week, have early evenings, late, slow mornings, and during the day I mostly commune with persons over the age of 60. In Europe I went to the markets about the same time as the retired, lived in the apartments of retired ex-pats, and here in South Korea I spend my mornings hiking the trails near my house, along with--you guessed it--the Asian elderly.

On these trails, with these older individuals, is where I first really encountered the Korean custom of bowing when saying hello. It happens lots of other places, (like when walking into a store, encountering a teacher/student/boss/coworker, etc) but it happened with alarming frequency whilst hiking. Normally, in a culture of respect and deference such as South Korea, I would be the one bowing to people older than me, but I think the combined shock value of my caucasianess/height/relative youth and the strangeness of my presence out and about during normalperson work hours, just squeezed out a bow.
I  soon realized that the culturally appropriate, respectful thing to do would be to bow back. So I made up my mind to do this. Every. Single. Time I saw an old person.

This is how I came to realize a strange truth about myself: I am an awkward bow-er.

In my defense, I've not had much chance to practice. I come from a culture where the mantra is to "Stand/Sit up straight!", "Shoulders back!", and my favorite "Stand Proud". And so, when it came time to bow, with humility and deference, to demonstrate respect, I realized I look really, really weird. I think they noticed my awkwardness, but appreciated the thought. Most people smiled (definitely a laugh-AT-you kind of smile, but still very sweet) and returned my "annyeong hasheyo" ("Hello, How are you?") with kind and happy eyes.

Repeating this process, probably once every five minutes on an hour and a half hike, caused another realization: I am a proud person. I don't like to be wrong, I don't like to feel ignorant, I don't like to be out of the loop, and I feel really uncomfortable bowing to others. Like my body just sort of grimaces and spazzes out when I do it.

But it was the smiling eyes of the elderly that won me over. Then the metaphors came flooding in, as metaphors are wont during long hikes in beautiful places. Rest and peace come from humility and trust. When you come before God with no agenda, and a simple heart, then you can really listen. Then, you can really let yourself be loved. Then, you can really love others.

On subsequent walks around the city, I saw many elderly Koreans with backs literally bent double from years and years of work (and probably bowing).

And yet, the second thing I noticed after the bent backs were the (toothless) grins and the smiling, thankful, peaceful, eyes. So different from the latent looks of unrest and insecurity that often lurk in the eyes of the tall, beautiful and proud.

I want crazy, crazy crows feet. I want smiling eye wrinkles that go down to my knees. But mostly I want the sense of peace, joy, and humility that caused them.

The good news is that moving to a new continent comes with a wide variety of opportunities to be humbled. Like when your friend Duyeon informs you that that crosswalk button you've been pressing is not to make the light change faster, it's for the visually impaired. That's why Koreans have been looking and laughing when you press it. Or when you wear a dress you thought was really cute and your precious korean student asks if you're pregnant. Or when you realize that Asian women simply do not sweat---and that you are an incredibly sweaty person, even by Western standards. Or when you realize that the third graders you teach speak about 95% more of your language than you do of theirs.

All this to say, it feels really, surprisingly, counterintuitively, wonderfully freeing to be humbled.