There’s a moment I keep coming back to from Korea.

I was sitting in this little café in Seoul, just enjoying my drink and doing absolutely nothing in particular, when the girl at the table next to me got up and walked away. She left her laptop sitting wide open on the table, her purse was still on the chair, and she just…left. Maybe she was going to order another drink, maybe she went to the bathroom, I have no idea, but she was gone for a good ten minutes and nobody even seemed to notice. 

Meanwhile, I’m sitting there thinking, Yeah, there is absolutely no way I would ever do that back home. I remember looking at my husband, and we both kind of stared at her table and then looked at each other like, “Is she coming back?” There was this unspoken feeling that surely we were missing something because surely someone was going to walk by, see the laptop and purse sitting there, and grab them. 

But nobody did. Nobody touched her things, nobody even seemed remotely interested in them, and I found myself sitting there mentally guarding this complete stranger’s MacBook like it had somehow become my personal responsibility. The funny thing is, back home, I wouldn’t even leave my phone sitting on a table while I walked over to refill my water. I’d probably take it with me without even thinking about it. 

In Korea, though, leaving your things at a table seemed to simply mean, “I’m coming back, this seat is taken,” and everyone understood that without needing a sign, a conversation or some kind of elaborate system. It was just understood. 

It actually took us a few days to stop being surprised by little things like that, and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that my reaction was saying just as much about where I come from as it was about Korea. I hadn’t really stopped to think about how much mental energy goes into all those tiny little things we do every day to protect ourselves, keep an eye on our stuff, manage our surroundings and make sure everything is where it’s supposed to be. Then suddenly I was somewhere that seemed to ask a little less of me, and I could actually feel the difference. 

Honestly, that’s when the trip started getting really interesting for me. I wasn’t just noticing the things Korea did differently anymore. I was starting to notice myself, and all the little things I had gotten so used to doing that I didn’t even realize I was doing things differently.

Small Things, Big Difference

The laptop wasn’t the only thing. What became my favourite part of the trip was how much thought seemed to be built into everyday life. You start noticing that everywhere you look, someone has paid attention to how things are done with real intention and purpose.

There were heated seats at bus stops, which I think is brilliant. There were giant umbrellas at street corners so you don’t have to stand in the blazing sun waiting for the light. There were LED strips embedded in the edge of the sidewalk that glow red when it’s not safe to cross, for people who are looking down at their phones. Subway platforms had markings on the floor showing exactly where to stand depending on where you’re getting off.

It extended into stores and restaurants, too. In one beauty shop, you could pick up a different coloured basket depending on whether you wanted help from the staff or wanted to be left alone, which removes that awkward dance of dodging salespeople. When you go out to eat, there’s a little button right on your table you can press when you need something, so you never have to do that awkward thing where you try to catch the waiter’s eye from across the room and give them a weird little wave.

Most places even have a drawer built right into the table with spoons, chopsticks, and napkins so everything is just right there when you need it, and when you’re leaving a smoky barbecue joint, there’s a little station by the door with fabric spray for your coat and a motion-sensor toothpick dispenser. Even just heading back to our Airbnb at the end of the night felt easier because nobody really uses regular metal keys over there anymore, so you just punch a code into the door or tap your phone to get in, which is honestly just one less thing you have to worry about carrying around or constantly checking your pockets for all day long.

Then there’s the whole thing about what you’re actually supposed to do with your stuff when you’re done eating or drinking. It sounds like a ridiculously small thing, but back home I feel like I’m always just standing there by the garbage bin holding a half-finished iced drink wondering what I’m actually supposed to do with it, like do I just throw the whole heavy, leaky cup in the trash or am I supposed to leave it on the table for someone else to deal with? But over there, pretty much every cafe or fast food place has this super organized little sorting station where there’s an actual tub just for pouring out your leftover liquid, so you just dump your drink, stack your empty cup or throw it out, and walk away without feeling confused or making a huge gross mess in the garbage bag. And I loved that.

I’m not just impressed by Korean infrastructure. I’m slightly jealous of it LOL.

None of this stuff is really some massive, life-changing invention, they’re mostly just little fixes for everyday annoyances that make your day run so much smoother, which you definitely start to appreciate when you’re exhausted from walking twenty thousand steps around a new city.  It honestly just feels like someone actually took the time to sit down and think about what people actually need, like realizing that people want to be warm while waiting for the bus so they put heaters in the seats. It’s really all just about making life a little easier for everyone, which totally ties into this bigger cultural vibe where they just seem to put a lot of thought into being considerate and how they share public spaces together.

I don’t want to make it sound like everyone in Korea is perfectly considerate all the time. They’re human, and every country has impatient people and bad drivers. I definitely noticed a cultural emphasis on shared space. There’s a Korean concept called nunchi, often described as reading the room and sensing what others feel without it being said out loud. You see it in how people move around each other in crowds, and in how quiet the subway usually is.

What My Body Noticed

I know I was seeing all of this as a tourist. I was there for a few weeks, not living a completely normal Korean life, so I’m not pretending I suddenly figured out an entire culture. But my wellness brain couldn’t help noticing what all these little things seemed to do to me.

At home, there’s a certain amount of background awareness that I don’t even think about anymore. Where’s my bag? Did I leave my phone somewhere? Who’s walking behind me? Is someone getting too close? Did I lock the door? Should I keep my stuff with me? After being in Korea for a few days, I noticed I wasn’t doing that nearly as much. I’d leave the table, come back to find my stuff exactly where I left it, and just walk around without constantly cataloging my belongings, and I honestly felt lighter. It wasn’t some big spiritual awakening, I just realized I wasn’t quite as tense, but the second I got back home, I caught myself pulling my bag closer and scanning the room, immediately reverting back to my normal settings.

That’s when it really clicked for me: sometimes we don’t realize how much mental energy we’re spending adapting to our environment until we step into an environment that asks a little less of us.

Bringing A Little of It Home

Obviously, I can’t redesign every bus stop in Toronto, although if anyone wants to put a heated seat at my local stop, I will formally volunteer as a tester, but I can take the bigger idea home with me. We talk a lot about willpower. Eat better. Move more. Stop scrolling. Get to bed earlier. And sometimes we act like the only thing standing between us and all of those things is more discipline. But what if we made the environment do a little more of the work?

Put the fruit on the counter and the cookies behind the cereal. Leave your walking shoes by the door. Charge your phone in the kitchen instead of on your nightstand so you’re not lying there scrolling at midnight. They’re little changes, but they quietly remove some of the friction. They don’t ask you to fight yourself every time. They just make the thing you want to do a little easier.

That’s the biggest thing I brought home, more than the snacks or the shopping or the subway tips, or even the heated toilet seats, which absolutely deserve an honourable mention.

I still think about the woman in the café, who came back, sat down, and opened her laptop like nothing unusual had happened. For her, nothing had. What stayed with me wasn’t that she could leave her things behind. It was how it felt to not hold on to everything so tightly, and that’s one souvenir I’d happily pack in my suitcase.