[An Essay from My Heart]

<Two Springs, Two Spirits>

— Between Spring in Korea and Spring in Virginia

Spring arrives everywhere. Yet the way it is welcomed reflects the history, culture, and inner temperament of the land. Having experienced both spring in Korea and spring in Virginia, I have come to see how the same season can bloom with entirely different expressions. One unfolds within the shared memory of community, the other settles quietly into the rhythms of individual life.

1. Spring in Korea — A Season of Communal Memory and Ritual

In Korea, spring is not merely a natural phenomenon. It is a philosophy of time shaped by centuries of agrarian life and collective rhythm. When the first blossoms appear—plum flowers, azaleas, forsythia—people declare, “Spring has come.” The season signals not only warmer air but renewal within households and society. Homes are cleaned, old energies are cast away, and families prepare for new beginnings together.

Influenced by Confucian tradition, the changing seasons have long been connected to moral order and responsibility. The cycle of sowing and harvesting symbolized diligence and accountability. Thus, spring was not only about hope but also about preparation and duty. Students begin a new academic year; workplaces experience personnel changes; society as a whole seems to stand simultaneously at a new starting line. Spring in Korea is collective—it is a shared departure.

Moreover, Korean spring carries the warmth of jeong—deep relational affection. Families and friends gather under cherry blossoms, share food outdoors, and hike through mountains painted with pink azaleas. Nature becomes a space of togetherness. It is not merely observed; it is experienced collectively. Spring strengthens bonds.

2. Spring in Virginia — A Season of Personal Reflection and Renewal

By contrast, spring in Virginia feels quieter and more individual. Walking through the historic streets of Williamsburg or along the shores of Virginia Beach, one senses that people do not observe spring through communal rituals but through personal rhythms. Lawns are trimmed, gardens are tended, and individuals take long walks in the mild sunlight.

The American cultural inheritance—particularly its Protestant and individualistic roots—often views nature as a setting for personal reflection. As Henry David Thoreau once sought solitude in nature to discover the self, spring here becomes a backdrop for inward renewal. Some jog along rivers; others sit quietly with a book beneath budding trees. Nature is less at a communal stage and more a contemplative space.

Virginia’s spring carries a sense of practicality and autonomy. As the weather warms, people adjust their routines, repair their homes, and rebalance their lives. There may be no collective “spring ceremony,” yet each individual greets the season in his or her own way. Unlike Korea’s synchronized renewal, Virginia’s spring unfolds at different tempos.

3. A Philosophical Contrast Between East and West

If Korea’s spring is relational and collective, Virginia’s spring is personal and autonomous. In Korea, nature is deeply intertwined with social rhythm; the changing season reshapes communal life. In Virginia, nature often serves as a catalyst for individual introspection.

One spring emphasizes moving forward together: the other highlights beginning anew on one’s own terms. Neither is superior. Each has blossomed from distinct historical and philosophical soil.

4. What the Two Springs Have Taught Me

From Korea’s spring, I learn the beauty of shared beginnings—the strength of walking forward together. From Virginia’s spring, I learn the value of quiet balance and inward renewal. One teaches connection; the other, reflection.

Though their expressions differ, both springs carry the same essential message: winter passes, and life begins again. Whether in the collective laughter beneath blooming trees in Korea or in the solitary sunlight falling across a Virginia lawn, spring lights the human heart with hope.

And standing between these two worlds, I find my perspective widened—grateful for the communal warmth of one and the contemplative calm of the other.

February 21, 2026
 

At Sungsunjae (崇善齋)

{Solti}

한국어 번역: https://www.ktown1st.com/blog/VALover/348456