I found it in small daily moments: convenience store clerks who recognized me when I returned to the same location quietly adding the third item on a 2+1 deal when I could not understand them; the restaurant staff near my apartment who still add a free appetizer after months because they know I am still finding my bearings; strangers pointing toward the correct subway line without being asked; and even a park ranger who once drove me home during a monsoon when my bus ran out of gas and dropped me off with my heavy suitcase in the middle of nowhere. Each moment was tiny on its own, almost invisible. Together they formed a quiet network of attention. I began to understand that jeong often appears not in grand gestures but in small nearly invisible ones — the kind you only notice if you move slowly enough to see them.
Visiting some of Seoul’s popular sites became another way of practicing slowness — standing still in crowded places and watching how people moved, rather than trying to see everything all at once. I was also fortunate to experience jeong through friends, both new and old, who were always eager to share their city with me.
Traveling between Seoul and Cheorwon in the fall and winter made this fact even clearer to me. In Seoul many signs include English, so navigating the city can feel straightforward. In Cheorwon, though, whixh is closer to the border, the subway does not extend there; buses run less frequently; credit cards are not always accepted; and Wi-Fi can be spotty.
