Jeju Island, aka the Hawaii of Korea, is known for its famous woman divers, called the “Haenyeo” (해녀). For up to six or seven hours in a day, they swim to the sea floor 10-20 meters below to catch harvest like abalone and sea urchins. They hold their breath for 2-3 minutes, without any fancy equipment, even in cold or windy conditions.
Before the program, I knew what haenyeo were from the many k-dramas I’d watched, including “When Life Gives You Tangerines” (I highly recommend this for those who want to cry!). But it wasn’t until after living on the island and getting the chance to meet some for myself where I became especially interested not only in their history, but also their unique mindset.
You see, before the trip, I was your typical Type-A character. Give me a schedule, the itinerary for the day, project specifications, and I would put in 110% to produce a product that would impress the judges and ace the course. I had every belief that my high school’s “project-based learning” curriculum prepared me for the project-based courses in this one.The first few days of class were a whirlwind. We had to wake up early, get breakfast, and walk to class in Korea’s humid weather. At first, I tried to tackle this class with the same mindset that helped me succeed in high school and my first year of college. Research the topic, engineer, write the script, create the presentation, practice. It was a simple step-by-step process.
For the few days, I researched, attempted to create an AI agent, and barely hung on. Then, a couple of days in, just when I thought I had gotten the hang of things, we were thrown into a mid-project presentation. We had one day to prepare a five-minute presentation for an audience of both PhD and master’s students from Jeju National University I started panicking. The next twenty-four hours, I drowned myself in anxiety and stress, paralyzed at the bottom of the ocean floor. Every time I thought I was
recovering, our mentor kept adding more information that we needed to include.
Our script and slides kept changing. The step-by-step system that had helped me succeed in high school and even in my first year of college was suddenly tossed to the curb, rendered useless due to the lack of detail and last minute.
I’m pretty sure I blacked out during the presentation. I had it recorded for me, but I stood up on the stage and suddenly it was over. Everyone told me, “Good job!” but rather than feel relieved, I continued to be anxious. There was still a final presentation, and what I currently had felt rushed and lacking.
Thankfully, the next day was a field trip to visit some haenyeo. We drove almost an hour to the outskirts of the island and were taught a traditional ritual by the haenyeo themselves. They had explained that they had been taught how to dive around 10 and were now reaching their 70s and still diving. I asked how they weren’t scared. “Sumbisori”, they told me. Every time they’d reach the surface, they’d take a whistled exhale, and dive back down. They’d work with the sea to help them achieve their task. In other words: they went with the flow.
Something about that moment changed me. I felt a renewed sense of being. I stopped putting so much care into the results and tried to enjoy the process more. Even outside of the classroom, I let go of desires to plan. I went day by day.The morning of the final presentation, my friends and I went to rehearse at a local coffee shop. We rehearsed one by one, and I could feel the old panic start to rise — to recheck every slide, rehearse each part until it felt natural coming out of my mouth. I caught myself and thought about the haenyeo, at 70 years old, diving into the roaring and unpredictable sea. How they would just trust their instincts once they were under. I took a deep breath, tensing and relaxing my body. My mindset shifted; I was ready, and my preparations would show during the presentation.
It went great. For the first time, I had fun presenting my findings. Rather than speaking rigidly and rehearsed, I spoke like I was supposed to: like an elevator pitch, relaxed and friendly. It wasn’t perfect, and yet it was exactly as I wanted it to be. We ended with free coffee and dessert, and of course, a celebratory dinner.
Throughout my program, I was tested repeatedly. Not just by the language barrier or foreign environment, but also by how I reacted to certain situations I was put in. I thought I was willingly pushing myself out of my comfort zone, but
the truth is, I had tried to stay inside of it. I lacked “Sumbisori”, the ability to breathe and let go.
Before this trip, when people told me, “Study abroad is going to change your life,” I would nod along. Of course, I believed them to some degree— you’re in another country. But you don’t really understand what it means until it happens to you. After this program, not only did I gain career skills, but also an invaluable mindset: learning to go with the sea rather than against it. Sometimes, even now, when I feel that old urge to control every outcome, I remember the haenyeo. I take a deep breath, let go, and dive back in.
