Having grown up in the South, I have grappled with my identity as an Asian American throughout my life. I was born in Columbus, Georgia, and grew up in a Korean household. I learned how to speak, read, and write Korean before I learned how to speak, read, or write any English; we spoke only Korean at home; and for the most part, I ate only Korean food. As a result, when I first attended school, I experienced a major culture shock. When I finally got the hang of English, I wasted no time in assimilating. I wanted nothing more than to fit in with my peers, and this continued all the way through college. By the time I was in law school, I was more comfortable with who I was and had come to accept both parts of myself, Korean and American.

Ironically, after I entered the workforce, where diversity initiatives and interest in multicultural candidates abound, I inadvertently focused once more on assimilating. This time, it was less out of a desire to fit in with a peer group and more because expressing the “Korean side of me” outwardly, especially to a new group of people, takes effort. For many, the first few years of private practice are defined by a single-minded desire to survive and succeed, and I was no exception to that. At the time, everything in my life, including being fully myself, was secondary to keeping up with the day-to-day work. In hindsight, I think I wanted to keep my head down and stand out for doing a good job — not for being different.

My perspective shifted significantly in 2022, when I was selected for the Leadership Council on Legal Diversity’s 2022 Pathfinders Program, a year-long program designed to provide diverse attorneys with a network for leadership and career development. My year with LCLD allowed me to meet dozens of accomplished diverse attorneys every other month and culminated in a conference in September, when hundreds from my class converged in Washington, D.C. It was literally breathtaking to see that many diverse attorneys, many of them Asian American, in one massive room. We were encouraged to loudly embrace our heritages and cultures in the workplace, and I came to realize that each of us had reached our current positions because of who we were, not who we weren’t. The rare, refreshing experience of being part of a large collective, when I was so used to being an outlier, made me feel truly proud to be an Asian American attorney.

Being Asian and American in the law, of course, involves some frustrations — being called the wrong name near-daily, for instance, or being mistaken for your sole other Asian colleague on your team, or often being asked mildly offensive, if not well-meaning, questions about your lineage and heritage. But embracing this duality of heritage also means I can utilize my intimate knowledge of different cultures to create a brand that is all my own. It means I have access to a wealth of context and perspective to become a better colleague and mentor. It means having a unique insight into who I am and how I operate professionally and personally. Today, I couldn’t be prouder to be an Asian American and an Asian American attorney, and for that, I will forever be grateful to LCLD and that beautiful room of hundreds of diverse attorneys.