There are many things that Korean immigrants living in America do simply because they live here — things they never would have done had they stayed in Korea. At home, for instance, the head of the household who would never have dared to set foot in the kitchen now washes dishes, cooks meals, does the laundry, and takes on housecleaning. But beyond these small domestic adjustments, there is something more significant that life in America has taught many of us: writing a will while we are still in good health.

This is not only for millionaires with vast estates to pass on. It is for all of us — setting aside even the cherished household items we have treasured, and distributing them to our children while our minds and bodies are still sound, so that when the time comes, no one is left scrambling or at odds with one another. To prepare for the hour of departure while it is still far off is a precious thing. To acknowledge that we came into this world with empty hands, and that we have no choice but to leave it the same way — that is the most deeply human posture there is.

And yet — why are we so exhausted just getting through a single day? We live as though we must clutch everything in our fists to feel at peace, drowning ourselves in work and neglecting the soul entirely. This story comes to mind.

In the Middle Ages, there was a lord who ruled over a great castle. One day, a young man wandered to the edge of the castle grounds — weary from years of drifting in search of his dream — and stopped to rest beneath a tree in the castle’s shadow. The lord noticed him and came out to ask what he was doing there.

“I am a builder,” the young man answered. “I have been searching for a place where I can put my skills to work.”

The lord was impressed by the young man’s spirit and vitality. “Would you consider making your home here?” he said. “Everything on these grounds is at your disposal — use it freely, take what you wish, and stay as long as you like. There is only one condition: when the time comes for you to leave, you must go out exactly as you came in — with empty hands.”

The young man agreed, and kept his word.

Inside the castle, he gave full expression to every gift he had. He became renowned. Wealth, honor, power, and fame all followed him. The years of wandering in search of a dream felt almost unbelievable now. For a long while, he was satisfied.

But as the years passed, an unease began to press down on him. Everything seemed sufficient on the surface — and yet something in the depths of his soul grew steadily more hollow. Troubled by a discomfort he could not name, he rose one day as though he had finally identified the source, went to find the lord, and said: “I can no longer remain inside these walls. I must leave.”

The lord was unwilling to let him go. “I need you here. What you have accomplished for this castle is extraordinary — why would you leave when you could stay forever?” He pleaded with the young man to stay.

But the young man cried out his reason like a declaration: “Nothing here is truly mine. I came with empty hands, and with empty hands I intend to leave. I must wake up from this dream.”

And so, in the end, he walked out of the castle — with empty hands.

— WanHee Yoon, September 25, 1997