The Monastery, Kimchi and Change
We often crave change but resist the distress that comes with it. Change doesn’t just happen in a vacuum; it usually arrives on the back of discomfort, forcing us to grow, evolve, and adapt. I learned this lesson unexpectedly during a visit to St. John the Evangelist Monastery in Cambridge. This silent retreat promised space for reflection, peace, and the potential for life-altering insight. I showed up eager for that epiphany—a moment where everything would click and I would walk away transformed. But as with many things in life, change came from a place I least expected.
The moment I arrived at the monastery, I was filled with anticipation. It was a beautiful setting—right on the Charles River, with expansive views and a peaceful atmosphere. The silence was a stark contrast to my normal, busy life full of writing, entrepreneurship, parenting, and the endless grind of daily tasks. This, I thought, was exactly the space I needed to unravel the chaos in my mind and absorb something profound.
I found myself seated in the library, surrounded by shelves full of books. For someone like me, who thrives on words and wisdom, it seemed like the perfect place for a big “a-ha” moment. I read for a while, staring out at the river, letting the peace sink in. Yet, nothing extraordinary happened. No sudden rush of insight. No earth-shattering realization. Just stillness.
As I continued to wait for that epiphany, I became aware of the conversations in my own head—an incessant loop of thoughts competing for attention. I tried to quiet my mind, convinced that the moment I did, some great revelation would strike. But instead, all I got was more silence.
The monastery offers a unique experience during lunch: a silent meal shared with others. No talking, no distractions, just the act of eating together. For an extrovert like me, this was a particular challenge. I sat there wondering who these people were, what their stories might be, and fighting the urge to strike up a conversation. The silence was uncomfortable, but intriguing.
Then, something unexpected happened. A monk stood up to read aloud to the group, and I thought to myself, “This must be it. This is where I’ll hear something wise, something sacred.” I fully expected him to share words of deep spiritual insight, something that would spark the change I was so eagerly seeking. Instead, what he read was…a blog. A food blog, to be exact.
At first, I was confused. Of all the things to read in this solemn setting, a food blog? It seemed strange, almost trivial. But as he continued, something began to resonate. The blog was about probiotics and fermentation, specifically the process of making kimchi. The author described how, in order to transform cabbage into kimchi, it had to undergo a period of distress. The fermentation process changes the cabbage into something entirely different, more complex, and more flavorful. And all it needed to change was the right conditions and a little agitation.
That’s when it hit me: change comes through distress. Just like the cabbage in the fermentation process, we have everything within us to transform, but it often takes discomfort or agitation to activate that change. The monk’s reading of a food blog wasn’t the profound insight I had expected, but it was exactly what I needed.
We all carry the potential for growth, but growth rarely happens in our comfort zones. It’s easy to cling to familiar ways of thinking, to remain in the safe, predictable patterns of black-and-white thinking, where everything is categorized as either good or bad, right or wrong. But real change—the kind that makes us more complex, nuanced, and compassionate—requires us to move beyond these elementary teachings. It requires us to embrace the discomfort of uncertainty, to challenge our preconceived notions, and to allow ourselves to be “fermented” by life’s difficulties.
The distress of self-awareness is often where change begins. When we become aware of the areas in our lives that no longer serve us, the beliefs that limit us, or the habits that exhaust us, we experience discomfort. It’s tempting to ignore that discomfort, to stay in our routine, and wait for change to happen passively. But, as I learned in the silence of the monastery, change doesn’t come passively. It requires us to engage with the discomfort, to be present with it, and to allow it to transform us.
Self-awareness is a powerful catalyst for change, but it’s not always a pleasant experience. It’s much like the fermentation process—something must be broken down, agitated, or stressed in order for a new form to emerge. For me, the silent retreat was a form of agitation. It forced me to confront my own thoughts, my impatience, and my desire for a quick, easy fix. I had come expecting an immediate epiphany, but what I received was a gentle reminder that change is slow, and it often comes from unexpected places.
Sometimes, the very act of waiting for change can be distressing. We want results, we want clarity, we want to feel that all the effort we’re putting into self-reflection is paying off. But change isn’t always dramatic. Often, it’s subtle, gradual, and barely noticeable until we look back and realize how far we’ve come.
As we grow and evolve, part of the distress we experience comes from challenging our old ways of thinking. We move beyond the binary thinking of right and wrong, good and bad, and begin to see the complexity of life. We learn to embrace nuance, to recognize that differences are not threats, but opportunities for growth.
This is where real transformation happens. When we allow ourselves to sit with discomfort, to question our assumptions, and to open ourselves up to new perspectives, we become more complex, more capable, and more compassionate. We move from a place of certainty to a place of curiosity, from black-and-white thinking to a spectrum of possibilities.
This process of moving beyond elementary thinking is not easy. It’s often uncomfortable, and it requires us to confront our own biases, fears, and limitations. But it’s also incredibly rewarding. As we grow in complexity, we become more attuned to the world around us, more capable of empathy, and more open to change.
Sometimes, the distress we experience is a wake-up call. It’s a signal that something in our lives needs to change, whether it’s a mindset, a habit, or a relationship. For me, the silent retreat was a wake-up call. It forced me to confront the reality that I had been running on autopilot, pushing myself to the brink of exhaustion in the pursuit of achievement. I had been waiting for change to happen to me, rather than actively engaging in the process of transformation.
This realization didn’t come with a dramatic epiphany, but with a simple shift in perspective. Change doesn’t always announce itself with fireworks. Sometimes, it’s as quiet as a monk reading a food blog in a silent dining hall. Sometimes, it’s as subtle as recognizing that the discomfort we feel is a necessary part of the process.
The lesson I took away from my time at the monastery is that change takes time. It’s a slow, deliberate process that requires attention and action. It begins with self-awareness—recognizing where we are stuck, where we need to grow, and where we need to let go of old patterns. But self-awareness alone is not enough. We need to take action, even if that action is small and incremental.
For me, implementing change has meant taking a step back from the relentless grind of daily life and asking myself what I need to thrive. It has meant prioritizing sleep, setting boundaries around work, and carving out time for rest and reflection. It’s not an overnight transformation, but a series of small shifts that, over time, create a more balanced and fulfilling life.
Self-care is a business strategy. It’s not just about feeling good in the moment, but about creating sustainable habits that allow us to show up as our best selves in every aspect of our lives. When we are well-rested, nourished, and grounded, we are more capable of making clear, thoughtful decisions. We are more creative, more resilient, and more open to change.
So, what do you need to change? What areas of your life are calling for transformation? Maybe you’ve been feeling a sense of discomfort, a nudge that something isn’t quite right. Maybe this post is exactly what you needed to give yourself permission to make a change—whether it’s big or small.
