Good Life Project - An Inspiring Comeback Story | Mike Han

Episode Date: October 31, 2022

Sometimes, life brings us to our knees in order to also bring us back to our essence. Question is, what happens when we honor that voice? There’s only one way to know, and that’s to heed the call.And that is exactly what my guest today, Mike Han, has done. Over the years, he became a deeply-skilled and sought-after omakase sushi chef, rising up in that world, and was just about to open his own place, when the pandemic hit. Literally overnight, he found himself without work, without a vision, without enough money to pay his rent and, to a certain extent, out of hope. But, he still had one thing, his artistic impulse, and it began calling him louder than ever. Not as a sushi chef, but as the visual artist that’d been inside him since childhood. The chain of events that unfolded over the next two years, frankly, is hard to explain in any rational sense. He said yes to the call and the Universe did, in fact, rise up to support him, time and time again, in the most astonishing ways. Mike has now made massive waves as a rising artist. In our conversation, we talk about Mike's journey up until this moment and explore the ways art has shaped his own life and even saved him at times. We also dive into his unique process as an artist, and he offers his own interpretations of what art can look like and mean to us all. You can find Mike at: Website | InstagramIf you LOVED this episode you’ll also love the conversations we had with Peter Tunney about his journey from finance to art.Check out our offerings & partners: My New Book SparkedMy New Podcast SPARKEDVisit Our Sponsor Page For a Complete List of Vanity URLs & Discount Codes.Skylight Calendar: Skylight Calendar is a touchscreen digital wall calendar that displays your family's important events. Now, as a special offer, you can get $10 off your purchase of a Skylight Calendar when you go SkylightCal.com and enter code GOOD Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

I call it chasing my paintings. I want to live the way that I paint. And I want to find balance. And I want to have it be organic. One stroke, one character built upon the next with geometric and then organic shapes. Soft and hard. These things that are juxtaposed, living in harmony. This is how I'm supposed to live.

Yet I have no freaking clue how to do it. And so the painting is a driving force for my life now. And so I just need to learn how to talk softer and be kinder to myself as it'll take a whole lifetime and I'm not going to figure it out. And it's hard. So did you ever notice how sometimes life brings us to our knees in order to bring us back to our essence? It leaves nothing left to do other than listen for and follow that voice that says there's something inside of you that is so true, so visceral, so real that it must get out. And there's no longer any way to avoid it. It's time. Question is, what happens when we honor that voice? Do things magically get easier,

come roaring back to life? Does the universe truly support the way we so often hear it does? Or does it continue to walk away? Well, there's only one way to know, and that is to heed the call. And that's exactly what my guest today, Mike Hahn, has done. Mike loved art as a kid, even began studying it, but didn't see a way to make a living at it. So he buried the impulse and got an entry-level job in a sushi restaurant. Now, over the years, he became a deeply skilled and sought-after omakase sushi chef rising up in that world and was just about to open his own place when the pandemic hit. Literally overnight, he found himself without work, without a vision, without enough money to pay his rent that month,

and to a certain extent, out of hope. But he still had one thing, that artistic impulse that had never left him, and it began calling him louder than ever, not as a sushi chef, but as the visual artist that had been inside him since childhood. And the chain of events that unfolded over the next two years, frankly, it's hard to explain in any rational sense. He said yes to the call and the universe did in fact rise up to support him time and time again in the most astonishing ways after seemingly failing him over and over again. In his more recent past, Mike has now made massive waves as a rising artist who proudly reps Detroit as his home with large-scale collaborations with global

brands like LinkedIn, Vitamin Water, and Google, public art projects, and private commissions. Informed by his time as a sushi chef, his visual art has become this deeply reverent practice based on an understanding that in order to create, you must also destroy. And his story is a testament to that. His graffiti inspired artwork is an exploration of his Korean heritage, sustainability, and human connectedness. And through his work, Mike strives to achieve something we all strive for, balance, by connecting people and places and ideas. His work has now been featured on BBC World News, Design Boom, Cool Hunting,

Architectural Digest, Apartment Therapy, Detroit Free Press, on the cover of Scene Magazine, so many other great places. He's also an Art Prize Equity Grant Award winner. And his work is featured in the permanent collection of Huntington Bank, Mercedes-Benz Financial Services, Henry Ford Health System, Shinola Hotel, Daxon Hotel, and more. In our conversation, we talk about Mike's journey and explore the ways art has shaped his own life and even saved him at times. And we dive into his unique process hotel, and more. In our conversation, we talk about Mike's journey and explore the ways art has shaped his own life and even saved him at times. And we dive into his unique process as an artist, deeply reverential to the medium he uses and deeply respectful with a mind on sustainability and dignity. And he offers his own interpretation of what art can look like and mean

to all of us. So excited to share this conversation with you. So quick note before diving in. Thoughts of suicide are discussed in this conversation. If you feel this may in any way be more triggering than helpful, please take care when listening or deciding not to. I'm Jonathan Fields, and this is Good Life Project. Mayday, mayday. We've been compromised. Good Life Project. The Apple Watch Series 10 is here. It has the biggest display ever. It's also the thinnest Apple Watch ever. Flight Risk. The Apple Watch Series X. Available for the first time in glossy jet black aluminum. Compared to previous generations, iPhone Xs are later required.

Charge time and actual results will vary. So excited to learn more about you, to dive into it. You have a fascinating story and sort of like this really interesting trajectory. And I want to explore that a bit with you. As we have this conversation here right now, you're, from what I understand, pretty much a full-time artist, but in the very not too distant past, art was something that was a part of you,

but it was never the thing that was really centered. So I want to trace that a little bit, but I want to take an even bigger step back in time first. So you're a Korean American. Your mom comes over here from what I understand, like early 70s-ish and lands in the Cache Corridor in Detroit, which is such an interesting neighborhood in the 70s. And in no small part, I almost feel like there's some foreshadowing, like fast forward in your life and sort of like, cause from what I know

of that neighborhood, like, especially in the early seventies, it's really similar to, in a lot of ways, like the Lower East Side in New York in the eighties, where it was rough, there was drugs, there was crime, but there was also like stunning art emerging from that scene. I'm curious like whether you've, you've talked to her about that time in her life or like, whether you've sort of like looked back at the cast, like around that time. Yeah. I guess it's you've talked to her about that time in her life or whether you've sort of looked back at the cast around that time. Yeah, I guess it's a dark spot in her past. She was traumatized. And being a young Korean woman and couldn't speak English well and a family of five, they were there sharing, I think, a one bedroom or a studio or something like that in

a basement. And there were people being carted out of the building in an ambulance, dead or overdosed or whatever. It was really a terrible time for her. She hated Detroit when she was young. She didn't want to be there. It was the first time she's ever seen a Black person. And in Detroit, it was violent. And it was just completely foreign to her coming from South Korea. And it's interesting because I was born years later. My first inspiration came from Soho in the late 80s, early 90s. We were in Connecticut.

So it's really interesting that kind of in around both of those places. And also later in my life, when I lived in Detroit, I lived a few blocks away from where she immigrated into. And I lived across from what they called needle park, you know, stadiums across the street from there. And that's changing. But it's, we've both gotten to see that neighborhood from maybe not its best moments. Yeah. I mean, it's so interesting. It sounds like you have had conversations with your mom about that time, though, which is interesting also because I know I've talked to friends and we've had conversations on the podcast over the years with folks whose parents came over both from a really traumatic

situation sometimes and then landed in a really traumatic situation in this country. And very often, not only did they have no interest in sharing any of these stories with their kids, but they very intentionally didn't ever want to center them in their own memories and then share them with their kids often until sort of like the much later days, if ever, because it was so traumatizing. But it sounds like you've had a more open dialogue about that. It's actually because of when I first explored the city in 2010, we had moved around a lot and ended up, by chance, I ended up finishing high school in Plymouth Canton, and she had, by chance, gone to Salem. And so we had moved probably six times before landing there. So just

by chance, you know, back in our old stomping ground and after a while of traveling, doing, going to college, coming back and 2010 decided to explore Detroit because I never gave it a chance because I was told by, you know, everybody, like, it's just, there's nothing for you there unless you go for a game or something. But I was from a creative standpoint so my mom didn't like that and that's when like we we first started talking about like why like why don't you like that place you know and so she had just had yeah some very bad first impressions yeah that's so interesting that that was the catalyst for the conversation actually and apparently it didn't scare you away. No, I fell in love, which was kind of crazy in 2010. Which is pretty amazing.

Your family ended up bouncing around a fair bit when you were a kid, like Ann Arbor, Boston, Westport, Connecticut, Holland, Michigan, and finally different places you referenced. And you mentioned also when you were younger, you started going into the city, and that became an early art influence for you i'm guessing in no small part because there's also that was sort of like the tail end of the sort of like the legendary downtown art scene in new york with like

the pop art like you know basquiat herring like all these guys down there what was was that your attraction to the scene yeah so uh i got got to experience Herring's Pop Shop while it was still around, just caught the very tail end and the subways and everything. So I just got very lucky. I didn't know what it was when I was young, but it left a huge mark on me. And then from a food standpoint, I actually got introduced to sushi because of New York City and living on the East Coast as well at a very young age. Four or five was art, sushi. And what I didn't understand at that time also was design,

as dad worked for Knoll, which he worked for Herman Miller before then, and then Knoll in New York. And so mid-century modern has become a big part of my life. And I didn't understand all these things came from the same time, same place. Yeah. That's so interesting. So you've got like these different influences coming into you from different angles and it's all kind of spinning around in your head, knowing that you like the different pieces, but not really seeing how it all ties together quite yet. So for those who don't know also, so Keith Haring, legendary pop artist, for years, he had this little shop on Lafayette down in the

village. And you could go in there and just check out all sorts of different stuff. And the whole inside of the shop was just his art on the walls and the floors and the ceiling. And I'm trying to remember when that went away. I remember just spending serious chunks of time there also. I'm curious, when you were in and around the city, there was another place in New York that became this legendary place. In the early days, it was called the Fun Factory. Eventually, like 2002-ish, it becomes Five Points, which is this absolutely iconic mecca for street art. The best aerosol artists in the world travel around the world to go to this place, and the building was stunning. Did, did you spend any time there? It's one of my great regrets. I followed it from

afar and appreciate it from afar. And they raised it as something that pained me when I thought, yeah, when I was like, before I got to visit, I was like, are you serious? Like how, how could you destroy an institution for a movement, you know movement that was born in New York? It feels like that was a really painful kind of thing to miss. Yeah, it was this incredible place. We actually have a really interesting tie-in from Good Life Project. So the project is 10 years old now. We started in 2012.

And the same year that we launched what became the video series and became the podcast, we also launched this year-long what we used to call a good life project immersion, which was sort of like this deep dive with a group of people into business and work and art and creativity. And that year we took a whole group of people over to Five Points, you know, like people traveled all around. We're in Manhattan. We jump on the subway, we go over, we come out. And Five Points, for those who don't know, it was this 200,000 square foot warehouse that had since the early nineties been just painted in the most stunning art you've ever seen. And so we were there in 2012 and the guy who ends up, he's an artist himself, Jonathan Cohn,

his artist name is Mears One. He ends up being the curator of the building and he's just showing us around. He's literally touring us through the whole place and the history of the different works and the entire building has been whitewashed. And it was like the most heartbreaking thing. But thankfully it is remembered in a whole lot of images, but such a powerful sort of like place for people to actually share their art. So you're sort of swirling around these influences and it sounds like, you know, like these are all interests to you as a kid, but art especially is never something where you're thinking, okay, so I could potentially make this my thing and support myself, like make it the main thing that I do. You do spend a little bit of time from what I understand in art school, you end up in Otis in LA. That doesn't last all that long. So tell me what happened here. You know, getting there was kind of weird. So, cause again, I never considered art to be a career. I never considered sushi to be a career. Both things kind of just, they happened as life, you know, kind of happens. And so it was actually, sushi came first in,

I was at Purdue studying hospitality management. And I applied at a restaurant that was Korean, Japanese as a server or a host. And they asked me if I want to learn how to make sushi, because I don't know, maybe I looked the part in Indiana. And so I'm like, all right, cool. Sounds good. You know, like I've been eating it for, you know, my entire life. So I picked it up really, really quick. And I really enjoyed it.

I happened to be pretty good with my hands. And so it just, it worked out really well. And then I had some kind of, you know, personal trauma there and tried to kill myself. And then moved back home because I was like super depressed and like really you know struggling and didn't know what i was gonna do with my life and all that stuff and parents decided uh to take me um to korea for the first time and i've never this is my first and only time and that was yeah 2005 i think something like that and so we went and that was kind of a life-changing experience.

Got to witness, you know, a Korean calligraphy master, you know, painting and, and eat, you know, Korean food, you know, on the, the around the coast and have fresh seafood and just all this amazing stuff. And, and then I got to meet some family over there and my aunt, she was formerly in fashion design, but while she was out in Korea she ended up transitioning her practice into making fashion for dolls and so really foreign to me and you know I was just in a weird place at that time and she you know I think she had some inkling that I was creative and she asked if I wanted to be part of a show and I was like okay whatever like I'm not doing anything you know and so i made a piece and

then i got to collaborate with a an artist uh there um a little a sculptor we made like a polymer sculpture together it's called the beautiful death is this young girl who cuts out her own heart to give it to a doll to give the doll life like super morbid i was in a very bad place but i thought there's something beautiful about this idea of giving, giving life, sacrificing to give, you know, life. And it was, you know, all in the form of dolls. And it was in Samji, which is kind of like, you know, the creative center of Korea. So my first show was in Seoul, which is crazy.

And someone, you know, wanted to buy the piece. My dad's like, no, they're not allowed to. It's the first thing you've made. So he preserved it. And before we got back, I started researching like dolls and like I loved characters and cartoons and things like that, you know, for my youth. And so I found out there's this thing called urban vinyl. And there were this movement at that time emerging of a small vinyl figures that were made for adults that were art toys, essentially. And so I, you know, research, I was like, okay, well, if I'm going to do something

like this is like, this is what I want to do. And I found that there was one school in America that had a toy design program and it was Otis. And so we found out that they had a couple of weeks until the deadline. And I was like, well, whatever. I'm going to shoot my shot, you know, and I broke out some lined paper and started drawing stick figures on lined paper. One of them being of a stick figure of me stapling my finger to a piece of paper, because I did that once when I was a kid. Super weird, terrible portfolio.

I didn't have one. Sent it in. And then when we got back home, you know, I decided, you know, weird, terrible portfolio. I didn't have one, sent it in. And then when we got back home, I decided, I don't care if I get in, I'm going to go to LA because that's where the scene is, the art toys and all that stuff are there. And so I packed my stuff in my car and I was ready to go. My parents were freaking out because I didn't get accepted. And so one day before I was supposed to leave, we came back from dinner or something, and there was a voicemail. And it said that, you know, congratulations, you got an interview. And so I drove out as planned, you know, but I actually had a place to go, which was great,

and dropped out because like, life drawing and like, all the stuff that like real artists actually do. I'm like, wait a minute, like, I thought I was gonna get to like, make toys here. And so I didn't, I didn't last more than a semester or two. The Apple Watch Series 10 is here. It has the biggest display ever. It's also the thinnest Apple Watch ever, making it even more comfortable on your wrist, whether you're running, swimming, or sleeping. And it's the fastest charging Apple Watch, whether you're running, swimming, or sleeping. And it's the fastest-charging Apple Watch, getting you eight hours of charge in just 15 minutes.

The Apple Watch Series X, available for the first time in glossy jet black aluminum. Compared to previous generations, iPhone Xs are later required. Charge time and actual results will vary. Mayday, mayday. We've been compromised. The pilot's a hitman. I knew you were going to be fun. January 24th. Tell me how to fly this thing.

Mark Wahlberg. You know what the difference between me and you is? You're going to die. Don't shoot him. We need him. Y'all need a pilot. Flight risk. When you go out there, though, and you land in L.A.,

what happens that makes you realize, because this is a huge thing, right? You go to Korea, like you have this experience, it lights a fire inside of you. You come back home. I have to imagine this was an interesting set of conversations with your parents saying, this is what I want to do. You go through the whole process of applying and then literally picking up and moving out to LA and then you're in school, when you realize, oh, actually like this isn't going to work, what's that moment like for you? I turned to sushi again. So it was like, it was the, a sidestep, right? And it was like, okay, well like I can't, like everybody at art school, like they hated me. I mean, they saw my portfolio.

They're like, what is this guy doing here? I'm like, they just want to take my money. I mean, like, I, I know I don't, but like everybody had like these gorgeous portfolios and all this, like they've been doing art for, you know, their whole lives. And I'm like this hack. So I didn't fit in, you know? And, um, and so there was this place that was, uh, being built in Glendale at the new Americana when Americana was brand new. There's a restaurant called Katsuya. And I had been researching, you know, some like, you know, really great sushi places because in L.A., you know, there's great sushi. And this particular restaurant was designed by Philippe Stark. And so I was really interested because the place was gorgeous.

The food had a great reputation. And so I went and applied and got to try out. And I'd only been making sushi for a couple of years and it was like in Indiana. I'm trying out against people who've been doing sushi for a while in LA and they have you just go through the gauntlet and make all this stuff. And once I got selected, then I think that was the decision. I was like, all right, well, I'm not gonna, I'm just gonna work, you know, like if I can't, you know, do what I want to do, then I'm going to just work. And so I got to do that. And then after like two months, then the owner chef Katsuya Uichi, I believe he then asked me to work for his personal restaurant in Encino where his office was as he's got like his own chef owned. And then he's got the corporate, you know, own chef owned. And then he's got the corporate, you know, super fancy ones. And so then I got to work for him for a little bit. So it was, it was really great experience. Yeah. I mean, I'm detecting a common theme here also, which is you get interested in something and you just kind of like throw your hat in the ring and say like,

let me just see what happens here, which is, you know, it's really hard for most people to do, especially if you're describing like you're coming out of kind of like a dark window in your life where you're struggling psychologically, emotionally, it sounds like to still have the will to be able to say, let me just wired this way where like, I don't enjoy doing things that are scary and new, but at the same time, like I can't just do a nine to five, you know? And so like, I've always struggled, you know, with this unsettling feeling and not being able to get the outcomes, you know, that I've wanted. And still like, it almost felt like masochistic at some point where I'm like, what, like, why do I keep trying to do something and like make something that doesn't exist or like do something that like, you know, is, is more difficult or whatever. There's something I haven't done or is unconventional and I've just never fit in.

So I haven't really had a choice, but to do things that, you know, the way I was supposed to do things, I was like, oh, you're not supposed to do it that way. I'm like, yeah, I, I get that. But that's, this is how I do things. Yeah. It's interesting because I think a lot of people, especially who are really sort of like makers who are artistically inclined, who like are really drawn to create things and to try things and they have visions in their head, which requires you to say yes to stepping into a place of uncertainty, sometimes like profound uncertainty for a long time.

You have no idea. Am I good enough? Is it good enough? Like what's going to happen with this? A lot of people who have that impulse don't also have the sort of like the psychological scaffolding to feel okay in that space. And I'm raising my hand, by the way. I'm one of them.

I'm really glad you brought that up because I feel that 100%. Yeah. It's so fascinating to me, right? Because you kind of figure, well, if you were put on the planet with a certain impulse to do this particular thing, shouldn't you be equipped to handle what it takes to do it also? And yet so many artists I know, so many makers, so many creators across any domain, it is a persistent source of struggle.

And it's really interesting because it's like that. It's like, I've a persistent source of struggle. And it's, it's really interesting because it's like that. It's like, I literally have been thinking about this. It's like, if I'm, you know, alone and if I'm struggling with these kinds of feelings, you know, all this kind of stuff, like, like why can't I figure out how to like deal with it, process it? Because like, this is perpetual, the failure and the, you know, not getting the outcome that you want and trying to, you know, try out a new idea or something. It's like, it's always been present, at least for the past, you know, 15 years or whatever, like that's been normal, but it doesn't ever feel normal. And I've never been able to feel comfortable in the way I always act, which is very bizarre.

Yeah. On the one hand, it's really bizarre. But on the other hand, it's astonishingly common among makers. And if you haven't had that conversation with a lot of friends, I'll tell you from my perspective, I have seen that pattern so many times, including, like I said, in myself. And what I've seen also is a huge amount of, I think a lot of artists and makers feel like their job is when they're doing the work, they have to go to that place. That's where the really amazing stuff happens, but they need to be able to touch stone in some other part of their life. So they tend to ritualize a lot of the just everyday stuff. So they kind of know what's

coming. It's like, I eat the same thing every day. I wear basically the same clothes every day. I listen to the same stuff. I've seen that pattern in so many hyper-creative people. And sort of like, that's where I can create anchors so that I can go to this place where I know I have to feel somewhat unanchored when I'm doing the work. You're smiling. I'm wondering if that's resonating with you you so i like this i wear a uniform and uh it's very bizarre i think because like most people don't wear uniforms and i'm starting to have to like participate in other like social things where like i've had to buy clothes i don't have like but i can't wear what i'm wearing to these other things that i'm starting to get involved in and it's like it's very weird i don't know how to live like i don't know how to cook it for myself

it's very weird where i'm like i was used used to working, you know, 60, 80 hours a week or whatever, just like immersed, right? Always there and serving people. But like making food for one person at home and doing three meals a day every day, like I have no idea how to do it, right? It's very painful. And it's so, there's so many options and it's like, I can't handle all of that. And so it's like been very chaotic just to try to figure out how to live, how to have these, like you said, anchors where the only one so far I've been able to do is like, well, I'm comfortable just wearing the same clothes. And for most of my life, I just shaved my head, you know? And I was like, that's, it was really easy. And now I'm like, okay, well, maybe I need to try to like do what other, you know, I have hair now and I have to get haircuts. And when I'm like, this is, I told the guys my first time getting a haircut and like, I can count on my hand five times when I've gotten one.

And this is the only time where I've done it, where I'm like, I've booked an appointment for a barber. It's the first time I've had a haircut and I'm almost 40, like very weird. Weird to the outside world, but like to like people who go to that space of profound creation and creativity, not so weird, actually like very mainstream, like what you're sharing with me. Very interesting. So you've referenced a couple of times now. I mean, I want to get into the last couple of years because I think it's fascinating, the transformation that's happened or that not even transformation,

but just really the evolution. But in the early days when you leave art school, realizing, okay, I'm not quite like the person who's in here. You already had this experience in the world of sushi. So you go hard into that world then, like you said, you end up being kind of taken under the wing of this one person in LA. And it sounds like that sets off this chain reaction of a series of years where then you're becoming more and more skilled. You're becoming not just an incredible sushi chef, but a restaurateur, somebody who understands how to run and manage a business and people. And you're in LA, you're in Denver, you're in Detroit, you're in New York City, building a name, building a reputation, building your skills, really kind of

rising up in this world. Like you said, working 60, 80 hours a week, working in the restaurant business, whether it's sushi or not, is brutal in a lot of ways. It basically consumed your life. But I wonder also, you're drawing stick figures to get into Otis, but when you get behind a counter and you're like in the zone of making sushi, do you feel that same sense of just dropping into a sense of profound artistry when you're doing that? Or is it more just like a job? Yeah, no, it was absolutely a passion, you know, and an obsessive kind of one. And it's actually something that I'm finding very difficult that I don't have in my current visual art practice. It's incomparable, the amount of intensity. They're polar opposites. And so I think that would be a great excuse to then put my art on the wall and try to sell art. And in the most ridiculous way of like, you know what, I need a $500,000 loan so I can sell art.

Like the most ridiculous idea. But I thought people need food, right? It's a necessity. At least that's what I thought pre-pandemic. And actually that changed after the pandemic for me. But in that idea, the pursuit of sushi, it wasn't just like try to be great at making sushi, but then there was learning about my materials, that they were organic and that they had a life. Because they had a life, there

was a responsibility for me as a chef to choose what to do with those, to take a life, to nourish a life. And I called it like a mortal profession. And it was the most challenging thing for me is that it's their sacrifice that has to be made every single day. And we don't think about food that way. And so for me, I wanted to make art, I guess, and have a creative practice with food and being mindful of these organic ingredients, materials, what have you, to tell a story and to learn about the planet and how to participate in

that. So that idea that it takes destruction in order to create something new, it takes death to nourish life, that I learned those things and practiced those things as a sushi chef because it was so apparent. I would literally, for one of the restaurants I tried to open, buy live fish just so that I could kill and process them myself with Ikejime, a bleeding technique, a Japanese bleeding technique that is like the best way, most humane and most, you know, best for the protein and all that kind of stuff for texture and all that stuff. And doing it, doing, you know, killing 15 of these fish, you know, it sucked. It was awful to feel an animal die beneath your hands sucks. And so I wanted to do that because I didn't enjoy it. I wanted to feel the responsibility, right. And then to then take that animal and use all of it and then make sure that it,

it was presented beautifully and tasted incredible, right? And then it brought somebody joy and nourishment, right? That to me was beautiful. And if I could tell a story about Michigan, about this place, using the techniques that I've learned and my heritage, being born in Michigan with Korean heritage, that was essentially the concept that I've been trying to do with sustainable seafood. And so opened up Detroit and New York's first sustainable sushi restaurants. And so it was all, it was mission. It wasn't, I want to produce food to make money. It wasn't a product for me. I have something to say. And it happens to be with this medium. You know, I couldn't get it to all the things,

you know, restaurants are complicated, you know? And so I got one open out of four attempts and then got kicked out. So. Yeah. But I mean, it's interesting. It's from the outside in, you know, if you sort of like, like look at what you've done, like all the different places that you worked and then in the later years, especially like there's this real emphasis on sustainability, local this and local that, and really use the entire thing. And from the outside looking in, it seems like, oh, well, this is maybe about efficiency and a larger focus on sustainability and the environment. But the story you're telling is not an either or, but like a yes and yes, and yes, that, and there's a much deeper reverence and devotion and almost sacredness to the way that you looked at what you were doing. And, you know, it wasn't just sustainability because of like some sort of like bigger

environmental thing. It was also, it was on a micro level. It was you, your relationship with your materials, with what was, you know, when you first met this thing, a living being that you were then sacrificing in the name of being of service, of nourishing others, and also doing it in a way that expressed who you were and the story of you, the story of where you came from, the story of where you want to go. So there's so many layers folded into that. That's the beauty of minimalism. You know, if in form, whether it's Nikiri Sushi and doing an omakase service versus my black and white paintings, it's food and it's art in a very, very simple form. But the complexity comes from learning about the color black and that it's

comprised of all the colors of the spectrum. And it's just really fascinating to me that like the more you look, the deeper you can find, you know, meeting and connections that are not apparent, you know, but if we're able to, you know, put these things in sharp contrast and maybe it's a way to be able to open our eyes to things that are true about this world that are so difficult to see because they're so close to us, right? Like, you know, the connection piece, right? It's we're all connected people and planet. And it's just, it's almost impossible to live and treat people that way.

If we were all kind, right? If we just all chose to be kind, every single human, no matter the instance, the world would transform overnight instantly and it costs nothing. And it's just really challenging to live. Being human is hard and having empathy and being able to deal with, you know, things that don't go the way you want them to, you know, how do we do the same thing today and tomorrow, but do it a little bit better. It's very, everything's subjective. And so it's, it's challenging. Yeah. I think a lot of the way that people deal with that is they literally, they kind of shut things off. You shut off their emotions. They shut off their empathy because

to allow it in would just be devastating. They couldn't actually handle that. It seems like you've gone in the opposite direction, which is to sort of like, let me remove all the filters. Let me let it all in and then try and figure out how to process that in a way that is constructive and uniting, you know, like for me just personally, but also for those around me and maybe for larger society. Yeah, absolutely. That like mindful deep dive into self and then trying to figure out like, how, how does that relate to other people? Right. And you find that you're not unique, you know, like, yes we are, you know, but we're also not. And that's, I think the beauty of this is that I can self-discover and learn, you know, why I'm different. But at the same time,

it's very easy when I start to share these things vulnerably that people can relate no matter what color their skin, no matter their walk of life. There's something that I'm finding that I had no idea. Like when I did a show about my heritage and there were people who came up, again, it resonated. I'm like, I don't understand, but I also, I really appreciate this. And when certain people would come up and say like, I don't have the right, like this is your time, your space. And I don't have the right to say anything right now about this, but I'm like, whoa, stop right there. Like you absolutely do. It doesn't matter what you look like. Or if I'm talking about my thing, it's where we're having this conversation together. And just like we're living on this planet together and no one has more right than another person. And so it's,

it's been interesting to deep dive and be hyper-focused on aspects of self to try to better understand it, but then also feeling very sort of ridiculous because like, I don't even know how to like, if other people are like, oh, you're helping me or inspiring, or if someone wants to learn from something I'm doing, it feels ridiculous. It feels ridiculous. I have no idea even how to solve my simple problems. Like I've had it easy. And I know that I have had experienced privilege and I've had nothing painful other than, you know, the demons in my head. But outside of that, my life has been easy. And so I'm grateful.

But at the same time, I'm finding that I need to learn how to change that self-talk because everybody struggles with different things, you know, and they're equally painful or they're, they're all things that we all have to learn how to overcome. And it all happens, I guess, between our own, our own ears. Yeah. I mean, which brings up a really interesting question. I'm so curious what your lens on this is. A lot of art comes from in some way, shape or form suffering suffering or experiences, circumstances, stimulus that lands in your head as suffering, whether that's outside or whether it's literally self-generated through your own thoughts and chatter. Not that all art has to come from suffering, but historically, if you look back, art has been both a form of expression and a tool for processing a lot of just what people endure in life.

And not that, you know, you have to go out and create suffering or the circumstances of it. It's just like things are going to happen like through life. So art has become just this fantastic mechanism to both self-express and process thing so that you can kind of come back to a better place. At the same time, you know, I've had conversations with plenty of folks who have that and it has fueled them and has fueled them to become exceptional at the craft of, pretty grounded. And they get concerned, you know, because what if a lot of that, like that source suffering goes away? Am I no longer going to be able to create, to make art, to have impact, to express on the same level?

You know, and you're sharing that for you, you feel like a lot of the things that you've struggled with have been internal. I'm curious whether you think through sort of the things that you've struggled with have been internal. I'm curious whether you think through sort of the relationship between what you experience, between how that both provides for suffering, but also simultaneously provides like raw material for self-expression. Yeah. I absolutely think it's a driver, you know, because like for sustainability, like for, from that lens, whether it's making sushi or making art, there's been plenty of instances where like people call me like you're a sustainable sushi, you know, I would call myself sustainable sushi chef and oh, like you make sustainable art or things like that.

And it's very challenging for me to use that word because I don't know how to do it. And I'm not sustainable in my daily living, in my, you know, whatever. There's always something I'm doing wrong. And so trying to figure out the degrees of like how to be better, I guess, has been a process of like trying to figure out, okay, if I can't actually do something that's going to make me unequivocally, you know, sustainable, then how do I actually live? Because I can't not do anything either. Like one example, a couple of years ago, I was making some ceramics. Really loved it. you know, sustainable, then how do I actually live? Because I can't not do anything either. Like one example, a couple of years ago, I was making some ceramics, really loved it. Wanted to learn about my heritage through ceramics and just loved making it. And then I learned that ceramics, even though they're made out of natural materials, they stay on the planet, you know,

for the material doesn't decompose for a million years, right? Like glass and stone, right? Like doesn't decompose, but you end up with piles and piles of broken pottery when you go to a million years, right? Like glass and stone, right? Like it doesn't decompose, but you end up with piles and piles of broken pottery when you go to a kiln, you know, and they produce these things. There's so many things that are broken or break that can't be used for whatever reason, if they're imperfect and they're destroyed, right? And so the idea of making something that could last for a million years to me is ridiculous. Like who needs my stuff for a thousand years? Probably nobody. A plastic bag will decompose in a thousand years, right? So humans probably will be gone off the planet sooner than my ceramic pot, but the plastic will

be gone or, you know, could be gone, you know? And so like when I zoom out and zoom in and like, try to figure out like what is sustainable and like, how do I actually, you know, are we saving the planet? Like, or are we trying to just preserve humanity? And I think we're just trying to preserve humanity. We're not trying to save the planet. The planet's fine. The planet's going to continue to evolve and it's going to continue to exist for millions of years. Right. So we're not saving the planet. We're saving, hopefully, the quality of life for humanity. And so we don't seem to care about – I have a very hard time where I'll be trying to do something good and deliver, but at the same time feel like I'm not making anything better. I'm salvaging a painting and then putting it behind glass to preserve it.

But again, that glass is not going to go away. Like, yeah, it's not like, but the energy that was used to produce it and all this kind of stuff. I'm like, if I would have just let the piece of paper decompose instead of salvaging it and turning it into sustainable art, uh, it would decompose and it would be fine. Like there's no reason for me to preserve it behind glass. So some of it feels really ridiculous for me. And it's been very challenging to carry the guilt of how do I live day to day, right?

How do I be better today than I was yesterday? How can I make my actions better for people on planet? And I don't know how to do that. And I think instead of having a very strong perspective of like, these are the things that we need to do. A lot of my work is like, I just, I don't know. I'm trying. These are the things I'm choosing to use.

That's the reason why. But like, I don't know if it actually makes anything better or not. And that's, I think, an ongoing source of struggle and reason to make, I guess. But even that, like, what do I really need to make things, right? Like it costs something. It takes a life, you know, to nourish a life. It takes material, destroying material to produce art. And is it worth it? It's something I struggle with every day. Yeah. And at the end of the day, are you wired in a way where you're capable of not, you know? Some of us are, some of us aren't, you know, and some of us just shut down the

entire process of even thinking about any of it so that we can just kind of keep on keeping on and catch our breath on a daily basis. And I think in no small part, the role of artists in society and culture for Time Immortal has been to keep the spigot on, to feel, you know, and then to translate and to share with culture and invite them into feeling also, which is really interesting, right? Because earlier in a conversation, you said, you didn't really see a role for art, you know, like as like a necessity in society for, even though you're doing it, even though it breathes you in no small part, whether it's, you know,

the process of being a sushi chef, which is being an artist, whether it's painting, whether it's the process of being a sushi chef, which is being an artist, whether it's painting, whether it's whatever your medium has been. And you're saying to yourself, I don't see this as a necessary part of humanity until a couple of years ago, where it seems like your lens on what art is and isn't and how it affects people and how necessary it is changes. And also there's a huge shift in your desire to center it. You end up, I guess you're planning as we're heading into 2020 to open your own omakase sushi place in an arbor, everything gets shut down. You end up effectively, like most of the rest of the planet, unable to do much for a solid

chunk of that year. But you emerge from that not saying, let me just bide my time and do something or figure out how can I keep saying yes to sushi until we ride this out. It seems like there's a switch that flips for you saying, let me actually, what if I center art? What if I center this other part of me that's been sort of like riding along the background for a while and see what happens? I'm curious about that decision. And I'm curious also whether it ties into this awakening of the fact that this actually serves a bigger purpose, both for me and for the world. Yeah.

And so it was actually by chance. So yeah, the last iteration was going to be the most complete expression of me as sushi chef and complimented with visual art practice as well as everything. And so a month before it opened, yeah, we got shut down. And then I was effectively unemployed for six months. And as soon as it happened, my heart was broken. I was just crushed. It was the second lowest time period for me in my life. First time being attempted suicide. So this comes right in under that where I was like, it was just the hope for not waking up tomorrow. It was there. And it was everything that I was working for is taken, you know, and I'm like, this is not, this is not fair. Like, how, how can this, like, I was so close. We were literally making the dishes, you know, did not cook. The only time I'd get up was to like get, you know, take out from the pizza. I watched Game of Thrones in five days from start to finish. I was incapacitated on my couch. And over the course

of that, you know, that time, you know, eventually, you know, tried to, you know, do, I took a UX design class, like in like month four or whatever and like try to like okay well i gotta try to figure out how to you know make money and get a job and like do something normal or whatever and that didn't work and um somebody in november commissioned me to make a painting uh just out of the blue dropped into my inbox and uh first mural i painted in you know a couple years and it paid for the bills that the state I was supposed to get unemployment and there's some glitch and whatever. So for that six months, didn't receive a single payment. And so I ran out of money, just broke. And that

mural commission came at the right time and covered my expenses at that point. Then I was like, all right, well, I've talked about wanting to be an artist. I just never had the courage to do it full time because of financial reasons or whatever. But I'm like, I have literally nothing to lose. I'm going to get evicted regardless. So if I make art and sell it for money, that'd be great. If I don't, who cares? My life is already screwed.

I can't go back to sushi. I don't have anything. And so then I became very pragmatic. It's like, all right, well, what are my bills? You know, what, and, and how many paintings do I need to make in order to cover my bills? And I found out like, okay, well, can I do it with small stuff? It was December, you know? So then I was like, I'm going to make Christmas presents. This is my, you know, I'll say yes to everything and I'll make small things. I went to Ikea, started hustling, like painting on stuff from Ikea and just doing whatever the hell I could to try to make money using my art. Because the goal for me was like, all right, if I can get a mural that could pay for a

whole month, but if I can't land that mural, I still need to, you know, cover my expenses. So I figured out I could do both, right? The small stuff and the big stuff. And that month I ended up covering my bills with the small stuff and it was great. And I was able to reinvest and just kind of make another all-in kind of, you know, went for it with doing my first solo show using blueprints that I had salvaged almost a decade ago that I've been holding on for a big, beautiful show in a gallery. I had this great idea of what I was going to do. And of course, I'm like, you know what?

Again, I was like, screw it. I'm not going to get gallery representation. I'm nobody. I can't show anywhere. We're still locked down. So I'm going to make my paintings in my apartment. And then I'm going to hang them on my walls, cover every single white wall in my place, and I'm going to do a virtual show, and I'm going to sell them online. And I did, and it was really successful, almost sold out. And that all just kind of kickstarted. So that was January 2021.

And since then, I've built an incredible art business and a practice that has nourished me in many ways. And so I think in thinking about how art has an impact, right. And I used to think like, again, it was superfluous, but when I really sort of thought back on art, like in January, when I was just like, what the hell just happened? Like I went from thinking like completely screwed, have no idea what I'm gonna do with myself to like, I have hell just happened? Like, I went from thinking like completely screwed, have no idea what I'm gonna do with myself to like, I have more than I need. Like, this is nuts. And so I thought about that, you know, back then. And it was like, okay, well, when I was super depressed, the only thing that kept me from probably killing myself was

entertainment, right? When people were locked down, we turned to music, to art, to dance, to writing, to reading. And all of this stuff was like that kept humanity together. Like we turned to art and then like coming out of this thing, then art has in the past year, given me more than two times, maybe three times what I ever made as a sushi chef in a year. So then from the satisfying my, my, you know, the scarcity in making just enough money to pay my bills, you know, to pay my debt, to having money I could save, like, or, you know, it's art has had those two profound impacts on me where I feel like it is not superfluous that art same thing is, is the idea of art and what it can do is more powerful maybe than

product. Like things that I really value that maybe America values is like things. But ideas are maybe more powerful. And the truth that we have everything that we need to save the planet. We have the technology. We have all the stuff. The problem is human will. So what is going to change that? It's not going to be a new product. But if somebody or a group of people is able to persuade humanity into deciding to change, if there is some sort of way that we can do that, then millions, billions of people could change the way they live and act, but it's not going to be

through a new phone or whatever it may be. But it's the content in that phone. It's the stories. Those things have so much more impact than a thing. And so the power of art to me is, and the need to make art, to make things that inspire, to get us to think about the world in a different way, to challenge us on how we live, I think it's absolutely necessary for humanity. I think we've evolved to the point where we need art. And I think that's a really interesting thing. Humans are weird. We need this stuff.

We are weird, for sure. But I mean, it's such a powerful comment that you're making, which is that we're looking for what is the intervention? What is that, you know, the, we're looking for like, what is the intervention? What is the technique? What is the process? What's the technology that's going to get us back to, you know, a better human condition? And, you know, like fundamentally, we need to reconnect with our own humanity and then be able to somehow see and acknowledge the humanity in others, especially those who don't look like us, believe like us, worship like us. And conversations are having a really tough time doing that.

Politics, technology is having a real tough time doing it. But if you can stand in front of a piece of art or listen to a piece of music or read a line in a book and it breaks you open and somebody else has that same reaction, all of a sudden you've just reconnected to yourself, to what makes your heartbeat. And you've also realized that, wow, that person that I thought was profoundly different than

me somehow is responding in a really similar way. Like there's gotta be something about them and me that's more similar than I ever imagined. And maybe that's the opening to something bigger. So I completely agree. I think art, especially at moments like this, is just so important and catalytic, potentially catalytic in so many different ways. Mayday, mayday.

We've been compromised. The pilot's a hitman. I knew you were going to be fun. January 24th. Tell me how to fly this thing. Mark Wahlberg. You know what the difference between me and you is? You're gonna die.

Don't shoot him, we need him! Y'all need a pilot? Flight Risk. The Apple Watch Series 10 is here. It has the biggest display ever. It's also the thinnest Apple Watch ever, making it even more comfortable on your wrist, whether you're running, swimming, or sleeping. And it's the fastest charging Apple Watch, getting you eight

hours of charge in just 15 minutes. The Apple Watch Series 10, available for the first time in glossy jet black aluminum. Compared to previous generations, iPhone XS or later required, charge time and actual results will vary. I'm so curious when you get that, when you're basically on your couch and you're like, I got nothing. And that first email comes in and however it came into you saying like, make me a piece of art. I don't know if you're a spiritual person at all, but I sometimes look at moments like those and I'm like, this is the universe sending a signal. In that moment, when you literally click on the open or whatever it is, it's going through your mind and heart. religion, but coincidence and timing, I'm finding in my life that everything is happening in the right time, whether I like it or not. And that's really been special. And getting to open that,

it's like, yeah, I mean, this is crazy. This seems too conveniently well-timed to be just a coincidence. And to continue to have my needs met in that sort of way that the struggle, you know, was there, but I still had everything I needed. Like I was still fine. Yes. You know, it's been emotionally very difficult for me, but like, I've never starved, you know, I've never needed water or food or, you know, shelter. Like I'm very grateful. I'm very lucky. Right. But in those moments, like it's, it's, it's hard to, even when I like try to get myself, like it didn't happen. And it was just very weird thing where I'm like, okay. Like it felt like this is not going to end right now. Then I knew that it wasn't the right time. It was very weird

that things continue to happen in my life that I've heard or experienced something that allows me to know that I need to do something. I need to keep going. Right. And I need to, whatever it is, even if I don't know, you know, if I'm supposed to put left foot or right foot forward, right. That just by making sure that I put left and right foot, you know, and repeat, like that's the job. Like I got to do that. I got to figure out how to get up and put left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. And that's how my paintings work, you know, and it's that daily reminder. I try to paint. I don't paint daily, which is very weird. I only paint when it's necessary, which is also very weird, but the choosing to do something that's scary and for me painting is actually terrifying um i don't enjoy it makes me nervous and just very uncomfortable and so i do it uh intentionally

to help overcome that feeling to remind myself that i need to do the work i need to follow the journey i need to follow the path even if i don't know if i'm going down the right way um and that's proven for me to be the right way to do it, I guess. So how do you, you said you only paint when you know it's necessary. How do you know when it's necessary? Yeah, it's weird. So I go long periods of time without painting. And so a lot of my work is thinking and it's very, it sucks.

You know, being in my head with all the guilt and all the things and the concerns. And so like initially, you know, I was too afraid to paint because I didn't want to destroy a piece of paper. You know, the paper is perfect. Am I going to add to this and make it better? Or am I going to end up putting this thing in the garbage? And more times than not, it's going to end up in the garbage.

And the way I paint now, not a single thing goes into the garbage. I don't allow that. It's not allowed in my process. When I paint on a mural, it's freehand. It's directly on the wall. There's no sketch. There's always an element of risk. And there is like, even if I do a canvas or whatever, typically the work is commissioned.

And so same thing. It's one go for them. And either they like it or they don't. And thankfully every time they've liked it, but there is no do-overs and that risk and the lack of producing waste in my artistic practice is very important, but not painting is hard and painting is also hard. So it's very weird to not enjoy the free time, the thinking, and to also really struggle while painting. But the result of the painting, the image that it makes and the feeling that it gives me and the feeling that it gives the people that end up getting to live with those

things, that's the thing that drives me to do these things, both, you know, living in loneliness and, you know, in my head and also doing a practice that makes me uncomfortable. Cause I'm not good, particularly good. You know, I can't draw, you know, a house or what, like I'm not skilled. Like other people are really skilled, you know, I'm not like, and so it's, it's, it's overcoming all those personal and, you know, sort of professional fears is that's the work. And I need to do it. And so when I'm allowed to do it based on time, permission, what have you, I do it. And after, I'm very grateful. But then I get anxious for the next one. I mean, it's almost like what you're describing is a practice. I'm thinking about my meditation practice as you're describing

it. I practice pretty much every day and have for a dozen years. And it's not because of the way that I feel when I'm meditating, because my mind is usually spinning all over the place when I'm meditating. It's not the classic, oh, it's completely zen, like calm, chill. That is not the practice. I do it because I know if I do it on a regular basis over time, it changes the quality of me, just of me on a more persistent state. I know I like the way that I move through the world, just more ambiently when I do it. But the actual doing of it isn't necessarily joyful or chill or blissed out. I like the change that it cultivates over time and how it allows me to relate to my world,

to the people closest to me in the world around me. It sounds like that's at least part of what's happening with you as well. It's a form of expression. And at the same time, it's a form of practice for you. And it sounds like you have these rules that are kind of there, like the whole notion of

it's not designed first, it's not planned out, it's not sketched out on a wall first, you know, or on a map or whatever your medium is. I mean, talk about adding to it being a terrifying experience. High stakes uncertainty, right? Yeah. Yeah. Even with like heirloom documents, right? Right.

Like I've painted on documents hand-drawn by ancestors, right? Yeah. Yeah. Even with like heirloom documents, right? Right. Like I've painted on documents hand-drawn by ancestors, right? Like for like blueprints and stuff. And it's like, there's no mess that you're not allowed to mess up. But here's my question though. On the one hand, it's training you to be thoughtful and to step into the moment and to just channel with as much integrity as you can and trust in the process. On the other hand, does that lead potentially to an expectation of perfectionism that can be kind of self-brutalizing? That every time you step up to do this thing,

it has to reach a certain level? Yes and no. So with sushi, I was locked into this perfectionism. I am a perfectionist. And so I struggle with all or nothing. Either my place is immaculate or it's chaos right now. It's chaos. My mise en place, everything just, it's perfect, right? It has to be. And that was driving me crazy too.

Being in that world, I loved it. I love doing it, but I also really struggled in that. And so my artistic practice is very mindful of my tendency to want to be perfect and want the world to be perfect and people to be perfect. And we can't. And so I'm trying to learn how to live in more realistically and being more kind to both others and myself by allowing my work to be authentic and that being the goal. And so again, with those rules for me, the goal is not to create a perfect image because I don't know how to do that. And I don't want to learn how to do that. For me, the goal is dynamic balance. And so for me, the way I move line on paper,

it's connecting abstract characters, which I like as a metaphor for both visual, but also written in terms of Asian culture characters. So the calligraphy and graffiti kind of influences merging. And so for me, it's about finding comfort in the process. And if I'm able to find that dynamic balance of lying on defined canvas, substrate, whatever it is, then I have done the work well. And so every time I do it and I can achieve that balance on page, it's something that I've learned how to do. And I feel very confident that I'm able to do that ongoing. Whereas in my life, I cannot. And so again, it's about this practice of striving to be like, I call it chasing my

paintings, is I want to live the way that I paint. And I want to find balance and I want to be, have it be organic, you know, one stroke, you know, one character built upon the next with, you know, geometric and then organic shapes, soft and hard. These things that are juxtaposed, living in harmony, all this stuff, but in real life, choosing sustainable materials or whatever. All the things to me are one-to-one. This is how I'm supposed to live, yet I have no freaking clue how to do it. And so the painting is a driving force for my life now. And I'm far, far behind in terms of how I'm able to produce success compared to, I think,

a painting when it's relatively simple and minimal, yet it carries these layers. And so I just need to learn how to talk softer and be kinder to myself as it'll take a whole lifetime and I'm not going to figure it out. It's hard. Yeah. As do we all. You know, I think when we're really being honest, that's the place that most of us end up. You wrote something which feels like it's kind of like right in line to share. These are your words.

Through the work, I strive to overcome anxiety and fear through organic mark making in an effort to achieve balance. I create art to learn how to live. And I strive to live a life of purpose filled with joy, kindness, and generosity. With that, I believe the highest form of art is a life well lived. That sounds pretty good. Yeah, I want to do that. It feels like a good place for us to kind of like wrap our conversation as well. So as I always ask every guest in conversation here in this container of Good Life Project, if I offer up the phrase to live a good life, what comes up? I wish I had an answer, you know, but I think I need to, I want to wake up hoping to figure

out what that is. Thank you. Hey, before you leave, if you love this episode, safe bet you'll also love the conversation we had with Peter Tunney about his journey from finance and business to the world of art. You'll find a link to Peter's episode in the show notes. And of course, if you haven't already done so,

please go ahead and follow Good Life Project in your favorite listening app. And if you haven't already done so, please go ahead and follow Good Life Project in your favorite listening app. And if you found this conversation interesting or inspiring or valuable, and chances are you did since you're still listening here, would you do me a personal favor, a seven second favor and share it? Maybe on social or by text or by email, just with one person. Just copy the link from the app you're using and tell those you know, those you love, those you want to help navigate this thing called life a little better so we can all do it better together with more ease and more joy. Tell them to listen. Then even invite them to talk about what you've both discovered because when podcasts become conversations and conversations become action, that's how we all come alive together. Until

next time, I'm Jonathan Fields, signing off for Good Life Project. Series X is here. It has the biggest display ever. It's also the thinnest Apple Watch ever, making it even more comfortable on your wrist, whether you're running, swimming, or sleeping. And it's the fastest-charging Apple Watch, getting you eight hours of charge in just 15 minutes. The Apple Watch Series X. Available for the first time in glossy jet black aluminum. Compared to previous generations, iPhone Xs are later required.

Charge time and actual results will vary mayday mayday we've been compromised the pilot's a hitman i knew you were gonna be fun on january 24th tell me how to fly this thing mark walberg you know what's the difference between me and you're gonna die don't shoot if we need them y'all need a pilot flight risk