Sometimes, I Long for Stillness

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Embracing the Value of Stagnation in a Fast-Paced World

Chef Choi Kang-rok has always been an inspiration to me. Before he became a household name through his participation in a Netflix culinary competition, I was already captivated by his work. It all started with a photo of the menu from his old curry restaurant. One item stood out: a 9,000 Korean won “Long-Simmered Curry.” The description was simple but powerful: “Simmered for a long time….” That phrase resonated deeply with me, symbolizing patience, dedication, and the beauty of slow, deliberate effort.

I found myself drawn into his journey when he appeared on a YouTube channel hosted by a Michelin Star Chef who had also judged the competition. In that interview, he described himself as a “stagnant person.” He spoke about how he had lived through many periods of stagnation in his life, choosing to focus on food that aligned with his circumstances rather than chasing trends. His words felt like a personal confession—revealing a fear of not being able to keep up with the constant demand for change.

The term “stagnant person” is often used negatively, rooted in the proverb “Stagnant water rots.” Typically, it refers to someone who refuses to evolve or adapt. In a society that constantly celebrates novelty and innovation, staying still can feel like a failure. The pressure to keep up with rapid changes, especially in an age dominated by AI and digital transformation, makes it easy to view repetition as a sign of inflexibility. But is this perception entirely accurate?

There are moments when I wish society would give more space to stagnation. Choosing to stay in one place doesn’t necessarily mean doing nothing. It can be a conscious decision to refine skills through consistent effort. Like a well-simmered curry, mastery often comes from deepening one’s craft over time. The flavor becomes richer, more complex, and harder to replicate.

As a journalist, I sometimes feel caught between the desire for meaningful work and the reality of a fast-paced, ever-changing environment. There are days when my tasks feel disconnected, and I question what I’m truly building. In those moments, I envy the simplicity of someone who can confidently say, “I am a master at simmering curry to perfection,” or “I know how to iron clothes until they are crisp and wrinkle-free.” These small, repetitive acts carry their own kind of dignity.

Most people who sustain society live quiet, repetitive lives. They may not be celebrated, but their contributions are essential. These are the individuals who spend years perfecting their craft, adding depth to their work without seeking recognition. Their efforts are not about speed but about accumulation—about creating something that cannot be rushed.

Deciding to remain stagnant is not as simple as it sounds. It requires a belief that time spent without constant change is valuable and irreplaceable. This conviction often comes from experience—through countless repetitions and small, consistent efforts.

It’s interesting to think about how some things in life move too quickly. The idea of a 3-minute curry feels almost frantic, while a 300-hour curry seems almost mythical. If such a dish existed, its flavor would likely be unlike anything we’ve experienced before. It would carry the weight of time, the richness of patience, and the complexity of a process that couldn’t be replicated in a hurry.

In a world that glorifies speed and innovation, there is power in slowing down. Stagnation, when chosen intentionally, can be a form of strength—a way to build something lasting, meaningful, and deeply personal.