Growing up, I would often draw a blank when put on the spot and asked to describe myself. Now I understand it as a function of trauma, specifically related to adoption and emotional neglect. I was born in Korea and grew up in Central New York in a suburban WASP-ish family and community. To give you a sense of the cultural landscape: there were no Chinese or Mexican restaurants in our town in the 80s and 90s (only pizza and burgers). There is no doubt that my adoptive family loved me, but in hindsight they were ill-equipped to handle my emotional needs.

My adoptive parents both grew up in families that harbored fears and sensibilities directly related to the trauma of the Great Depression. In our house, we had financial stability. However, if not prepared, that financial stability could be snatched away at any moment. If you hunt around my parents’s kitchen, you can still find remnants of this mentality: aluminum foil that’s been washed, dried, and folded in a drawer or a bread bag half full of twist ties (because why would you throw away a perfectly good item that could be used again?). The love that accompanied this practical household was just as functional and sensible. Unfortunately, my emotional landscape was a lot messier, a cleanup project that I’m finally making some headway on. As I aged and moved out of the house, my perspective went from eye-rolling in my 20s and 30s to more of an appreciation in my 40s. The world has since caught up to my mother’s frugality and environmental concern.

As an adoptee, identity has been a lifelong puzzle that I’ve been diligently assembling in my psyche. I’ve had to start from scratch; there is no lineage to align myself with, no physical traits to position myself against. I am a cut and paste/double-take in the family photo. Piece by piece I create an evolving sense of who I am - pulling from music, books, relationships, film, podcasts, conversations, and many '“trial and error” life experiences. Too many phases or “identity experiments” to name here. I’m so glad that the word “cringe” wasn’t around back then; I was able to explore who I was without the harsh light of exposure that word shines on those boundary pushing attempts of self expression.

It makes me sad to think about the damage social media has done to these younger generations: unrelenting self-consciousness, self-censorship of emotional expression that numbs you to your own humanity, and cruel judgement of others who are a reminder of your own worst fears and insecurities. To be cringe is to be human. Allowing fear of judgement to be your guiding social principle will stunt your growth; a depressing sentence in a prison of your own worst-case-scenario spiraling thoughts. But I digress: Knowing thyself is the goal and I’ve pursued this goal down many rabbit holes.

In other words, I am a navel gazer, which has an added layer for adoptees. The navel is not only symbolic of larger existential questions of origin, but also the point of severance from she who will remain unknown - a double layer of mystery and reason for exploration.

I am also a stargazer. I am currently obsessed with understanding consciousness and cracking the code of human existence. It’s like a Rubik’s Cube in my head I can’t put down. As a kid I was always interested in the paranormal (Mysteries of the Unknown anyone?). In my 20s and 30s, I was drawn to the New Age section of the bookstore. And for some reason, since early 2024, I’ve been consumed with learning about every nook and cranny of consciousness - human and otherwise.

Other aspects of my identity include mother, wife, Gen Xer, breast cancer survivor, concert goer, and lover of soul searching conversations. Cranial Groove is about finally having an outlet for creative expression, writing, podcasting, self-exploration, and hopefully community. So check out our podcasts where we debate and unpack all sorts of content, some fun, some serious. I’m not really sure where this is all going, but it feels good to finally get started.