Kimchi Halfie Is One

It's been one year since my first blog post. I'm going to spare you the generic phrases that usually accompany an anniversary. Instead, grab some wine so I can tell you a story.

It's true: there's an ocean of food blogs on the internet. So why did I start Kimchi Halfie (formerly known as Northwest Workshop)? I'm going to proceed with visuals.

I was bright-eyed and bushy tailed. Eager to create ... something ... anything. 

Obviously, you can tell from the photo that I had pretty good taste from a young age.

I'd like to say I always knew my profession was going to be in the arts, but truthfully, I was just REALLY bad with math and science. As an adult, I've figured out that it was because of the way I learn, but I didn't know that at the time. I was labeled "the creative one" in my peer groups, so that lead me to study art in college. From day one, I could tell from the students around me that I wasn't good at this either. But. I have a bull-headed work ethic, so I just didn't quit. 

Fast forward to being a working professional. I became pretty disappointed. 

All I could think about while I was sitting at my desk - I'm on a leadership team at this point - was that if emailing and corralling people was how I spent my days, why the hell did I just rack up $90k + interest in tuition debt for this. 

I used to be able to balance the corporate world with creative projects on the side, but I just couldn't ... wouldn't ... do it anymore. Plus, I always had jobs as a graphic designer, photographer or retoucher, so wasn't that supposed to feed my creative side? 

I burned out, and I didn't even know it.

And I got mean. I wish I was exaggerating.

If you're reading this and we haven't met in person, let me just tell you that I have a caring demeanor. Honestly. But that became my detriment and morphed into a hatred of others that didn't care as much as I did. Co-workers, family members, and even the mailman: no one was safe from my judgemental wrath.  

There I was. At the bottom of the well. Crying in the car on a regular basis.  

So I turned that ship around real quick. 

Miraculously, I slowly tunneled my way out of a dark place and knew I was the only one that could choose my next steps. I locked myself in my house for a weekend and wrote down what would make me happy, which sadly, I had never done before. 

Here's what I came up with: I love the Northwest. I love food. I love to photograph things. I love helping people. 

And that was it. I unblocked this wall in my mind and finally let all of my ideas out that I kept cooped up for so long. It was more than overwhelming. 

Then, I had no idea what I was supposed to do next. But I was happy.

I made a conscious decision and gave myself permission to cut myself off from my job. Just to be clear, I knew I would be going back to a supplemental job later, but I needed the creative bootcamp to get myself back to what I knew I was capable of.

I turned to the interwebs and fell in love with blogging and what people were doing with it. I decided to start there, because it tied in all of the components I was looking for: creativity, deadlines (to make sure I didn't stop producing), and entrepreneurship.

Now, I'm flossin'.

Not with diamonds, but with clarity. I don't even recognize that burned out person anymore. Real talk, I'm actually back in the concrete jungle, but it's on such better terms and I'm able to thrive with like-minded individuals. 

This past year has changed my life. It's the most creatively productive I've been since ... I can honestly say ever. 

I'm learning everyday, working hard and most important, happy. It's all I've ever wanted. 

Go cook something. No really. For KH's birthday, cook a meal that you've been meaning to try but haven't made time for. While you're sharing it with your loved one, have a conversation about where you are in your life. Do some checks and balances about how you're spending your days. 

And I can't say this enough: THANK YOU to the moon and back for caring enough to take a gander through anything I've created.