Your Frequency Attracts Your Destiny

Your Frequency Attracts Your Destiny

Kelly Choi, a Korean entrepreneur, once wrote a list of everything she wanted in a spouse before getting married.

She listed dozens of criteria—appearance, wealth, values, personality, lifestyle, and more. Remarkably, her current husband matches that list almost perfectly. Years later, she reflected: "Writing such a demanding list was my commitment to becoming the kind of person who deserved someone like that."

She knew exactly what she wanted, and through the law of attraction, she got it. The law of attraction suggests that if you imagine and believe in what you want deeply enough, it will manifest. But many people stumble at the very first step—they don't know what they truly want. I was one of them.

I've always been a simple, perhaps even unsophisticated person.

My happiest moments are drinking coffee by a sun-drenched window in the morning, slipping under the covers on a heated bed, or sitting quietly at my desk writing—like right now.

But until my early thirties, I couldn't accept these simple pleasures as valid desires. I thought I needed to want bigger, grander things to achieve more. I was afraid of giving up on possibilities I hadn't even explored yet. What if my future self regretted not being more ambitious?

So I forced myself to dream of the most expensive apartment, the finest car, shopping sprees at luxury boutiques. I never stopped to ask what I actually wanted from life.

Once, I bought an expensive handbag as a reward for my hard work. But that day, I felt no joy. And then I felt ashamed for not being happy, which only made things worse.

It's embarrassing to admit, but every night before sleep, I would try to imagine myself living in Seoul's most expensive apartment, driving a Porsche, becoming a VIP at designer boutiques. No matter how hard I tried, it never brought me joy. Those images felt so distant from who I was. And forcing myself to want them only made me sad.

One day, I decided to change the direction of my prayers.

Instead of asking for a wealthy, successful spouse, I began praying for my heart to become as calm as a still lake. I asked for a partner with solid character who would help me become a better person—someone who could share in the moments I loved.

After a few days, my ideal partner began to take shape more clearly. Holding hands while walking through a park. Sitting across from each other in a café, deep in conversation. Watching a late-night movie and sharing a midnight snack. These ordinary scenes brought me a peace I hadn't felt before. And one image kept returning to my mind: a small cottage in the woods, like a pension tucked away from the city. I could see myself there, tending a garden, sipping tea, finally free from urban noise. It was strange, but it felt right.

Around that time, noticeable changes began appearing in my life.

I started running. What began as light walks soon became 8-9 kilometer runs. The feeling after each run was so good that I couldn't wait to get home after work. Naturally, I ordered less delivery food and drank less alcohol. My physical and mental health improved together.

As my health improved, so did my work performance. My focus sharpened. I developed trust in myself. The belief that "I won't starve no matter what happens"—this was a huge shift for someone who had always lacked confidence. Best of all, I had great mentors on my team.

During this period, I realized something important: you must learn to be at peace with yourself before you can build stable relationships with others. When you enjoy your present life and love yourself, you shine the brightest.

The partner you want is probably someone kind, diligent, and capable of taking responsibility for their own life—someone devoted to their relationship yet still passionate about their work. So imagine: who would be standing beside such a person? That's exactly who you need to become.

About six months later, I met a man through a blind date.

He was an ordinary office worker who valued his family deeply. Our relationship progressed at lightning speed. Three months after we met, he proposed. Two months later, we booked a wedding venue.

One day before the wedding, he asked me hesitantly: he had been building a small house in the countryside. Would I like to see it?

That weekend, we drove to a mountain village on the outskirts of Gyeonggi Province. It was a quiet two-story house with a small yard, nestled deep in the forest. When I first saw it, I didn't feel anything special. Just, "What a pretty house."

But a year later, on a bright spring day, I was in the yard picking basil and watering the flowers when a powerful sense of déjà vu washed over me. I looked around and realized: this was the house in the woods I had imagined years ago.

We've now been married for eight years.

I don't want to speak too soon about marriage—we still have a long road ahead. But one thing is certain: contrary to the vague fears of my younger years, I am getting closer and closer to the life I truly wanted.

I left a stable job at a large corporation to become the editor-in-chief of a small publishing house called Liabooks. If you ask why, there's no grand reason. This work gave me the feeling—for the first time—that "this is my calling." And I didn't want to let that go.

The one who gave me courage was my husband. Whenever I print out my goals and post them around the house, he treats them as if they're already scheduled to happen.

When I said I wanted to become a writer, my husband started a publishing company.

When my husband created PRISM, I became a journalist.

What's stopping us?

What is love?

What happens when you fall in love? Your eyes are drawn, your interest is drawn, your heart is drawn, your body is drawn. When two people are drawn to each other so deeply, what happens? They decide to spend the rest of their lives together.

Yes. Love itself is attraction.

True love doesn't chain you to the past. It makes you brave. It makes you venture forth. It's not a departure from your path—it's the journey back to where you were always meant to be.