“See that sign over there?” I gestured across the bright Hongdae street at a restaurant. “That place sells 족발, or pig’s feet. I didn’t like it the first time, but it grows on you.”

But Ben was more interested in the foods he knew than the more colorful ends of the Korean palate. “Do they have 갈비 (Korean marinated beef, a ubiquitous Koreatown Los Angeles staple)?” he asked.

“No, not there,” I responded, and taking up the opportunity continued. “Did you know that most Koreans don’t have 소고기, or beef, very often? It’s a rare and expensive treat.”

And so our walk around the neighborhood went—Ben, enthusiastically mentioning friends and hobbies he’s interested in as a rising sixth grader, and me, equally invigorated by the chance to share what I’d learned. There’s 순대, pig intestines. A 편의점, or convenience store. Oh, and that’s a huge 백화점, or department store run by one company.

He indulged me, trying 식혜, a sweet rice drink, and finding that he liked it, and trudged up a dozen escalators in the shopping mall. On more than one occasion, I realize now, I interrupted a story of his about his shenanigans or an elementary school update with a narrative or two-minute lesson of my own.

Sometimes I forget he’s 11 years old. He would rather just hold my hand walking down the street than hear me opine about native cuisine or dress. And honestly, I really should prefer that too. I’m not his 영어 선생님, or English teacher, as one inquisitive Korean restaurant lady cheerfully asked me at lunch. These relationships should be defined by selflessness, not a prideful, holier than thou stubbornness that threatens to squeeze the compassion and kindness out of the day. Transactional living is no life at all. A held hand conveys more than a 20-minute lecture.

For now, I am thankful for the gentle reminder that comes sooner rather than never. This isn’t the first time either; a friend last year rightfully confronted me for being so wrapped up in my own problems that I often neglected to empathize with that of those close to me. And so, I would be caught off guard when suddenly there were issues with family or friends; I had not been listening.

The timing of this past week’s family visit could not have been any better. I suspect that the past few months of being isolated from the people who know me best, who normally serve as checks and balances, had resulted in an over-inflated sense of purpose that began to blur with arrogance. As I look back now on past issues of this newsletter, there are just as many instances of me shaking my head at my past impertinence as me nodding in reflective agreement. With just a little more than a month remaining in Korea, I will have to continue to search for the balance between sharing and proselytizing, experiencing and criticizing.