I lived under my parents' care until I was 30, studying the whole time. I got married at 30—to an artist who didn’t care much about making money. So I wandered, trying to find ways to earn a living. We struggled to build a stable life and had children later than others. While raising two kids, I supported my husband who stayed focused only on his art. By the time I finally had a moment to breathe, I was already 60.
If I live to be 90, I have 30 years left. I want to live those years for myself. But I know my body will grow weak, and I won’t be able to live with the same energy I once had. Right now, life feels endless—but who knows what tomorrow will bring? If I want to live the rest of my life doing what I love, I need peace of mind. That means keeping a good relationship with the husband beside me.
When I was young, life felt long. But now, it passes so fast—I feel anxious. I often think: Before I get any older, I need to do the things I put off because of my kids or my husband. So I started looking around for inspiration. I ended up going to three talks by Venerable Pomnyun Sunim—one in Queens, one in Manhattan, and one in Fort Lee.
I wanted to see him in person and feel the atmosphere. Would his words really speak to my heart?
While working in my studio, I often listen to his YouTube videos. One story stayed with me.
A young woman was complaining:
“It’s so hard living with my husband now that he’s home all the time. We keep fighting.”
Sunim answered:
“Think about what it will be like when he’s gone. At most, you might have a few more years. It could even be over tomorrow. Just having someone beside you is a blessing. We only realize how precious it was after we lose it.”
He continued:
“When someone is far away, we see what we have in common—the big picture. But when they’re close, we only see the small differences—the little things that annoy us. That’s why people fight. But if you simply accept that your husband is different from you, there’s no conflict.
When we expect, ‘I treat you well, so you treat me the same,’ and they don’t—then we feel hurt. That’s not love—that’s a transaction. We become like business partners. Loving you is my choice. Whether you love me or not is your choice. Love is not about getting something in return.”
And one more thing he said:
“When you say you’re trying to endure or working to be patient, that means you don’t know how precious this moment really is. If you understand that each moment is valuable and won’t last forever, there’s no need to try or endure—it just becomes natural.”
Thankfully, I already know my husband is precious to me. I don’t need to force myself to try or be patient. I just want him to stay healthy and live a long time—so he can keep creating good artwork.
After all, our marriage started hard, since he didn’t make much money. But little by little, our life became more comfortable. And I have this small hope: maybe, unlike other jobs, an artist’s income might even increase with age. That thought makes him even more precious to me.
Of course, when he’s not working, all he does is read newspapers all day and say annoying things without any sense. Sometimes I get angry. But then I remember how lucky I am—and I calm down.
Still, I have to ask myself:
Aren’t I the one who always says, “Money is the most important thing” in the end? Isn’t that just another kind of business thinking?