Link to the Original Post in Korean at April 2022

Last weekend, a friend told me:

“You’re going to end up working for yourself anyway. If you’re going to do it, just do it! And if you keep talking about it to those around you, they will keep you accountable.”

Indeed, I have something in my mind for a while now. Ok. This is going to be a long story, so grab some popcorn.

TL;DR?

👉 I want to build something like nonce, but in Yangyang.

How am I going to make a living and keep my Saturdays free? (Note: Korea has a toxic work culture, even leading to "death from overwork.")

I started living the "life with evenings after work" during my internship here in Washington D.C., and I am still quite bewildered. Coming home before dusk and cooking dinner together feels natural, but I also know it can’t last forever.

I can recite the Heart Sutra, but unfortunately, my desires haven’t dimmed. More than anything, I want my work to be fun, fulfilling, profitable, socially meaningful, and still allow me personal freedom and free Saturdays.

During my senior year of college, like any other seniors, I wrestled with the question of what I wanted to do. Eventually, I applied to a company I discovered by Googling “remote work” (five years before COVID, when remote work was still unusual). I didn’t get in.

Everyone around me offered the same advice: “Self-actualization starts after work. Just focus on making money during the day.” But I couldn’t accept that. I refused to be another cog in the capitalist machine—I am Peter Pan! (without the fairy dust). I wanted the work that consumed most of my waking hours to also be everything bagel.

Koreans often say their college years were the best time of their lives. If that’s true, then why not continue living the rest of life that way? For me, the memory of running a student club—where work was exciting and collaborative—was so fulfilling and I wanted work to feel the same even after graduation.

Since college, I always knew I wanted to start my own business. I had no brilliant J-curve idea but i had a desire to prove that it was possible to succeed by working differently. It was more about How we work more than What.

As graduation approached, the startup boom began, and companies like Baemin (배달의 민족), the popular food delivery app in Korea, exemplified everything I had dreamed of. They demonstrated that it was possible to create a playful, creative culture and still build an empire. Now the “startup culture” shifted from being countercultural to becoming the new standard for high performance. In a way, Baemin took away my desire to start a company.

And then came blockchain. And DAO.

As a kid, my favorite movie was Ocean's Eleven. The ending scene was hard to forget: the eleven teammates stood in front of the fountain show (or was it fireworks?) after successfully pulling off their heist, splitting the winnings equally among themselves. That image of working as a team, succeeding as a team, and sharing as a team was inspiring.

In my twenties, my headspace was filled with how we approach teamwork. If I were to start something, how could we fairly distribute shares among the founding team? What about new members who join later on? How should we handle Time-Weighted Averaging? Or is it not about time?

I wrestled with these questions by myself, without a teammate nor a business idea.

Then came blockchain. And DAO.

I want to create a DAO, grand Enchovy Surfing Club in Yangyang, a small surfing town in Korea.

Let’s start with why Yangyang.

I first learned about the concept of a "second home" from Dorothy at nonce. She mentioned that she had her home but also a co-residency at nonce, which gave her the freedom of choice: "Which house should I go to today?" Why should we limit ourselves to one home? Why not two, three, or however many work for you?

That shift in perspective—from ownership to access— blew my mind.

This past New Year’s, I stayed at a friend’s villa in Pyeongchang (yes, the Winter Olympics location). Since the house was mostly empty, they let me use it for free. Yay!

But i had no chance of owning my own villa. Hey why should I have so much money to enjoy all this? If we treated them like memberships—fractioned by time—then everyone could “own” a piece of a villa.

Seoul has its own square lifestyle, divided not just geographically (north vs. south of the river) but even culturally (finance in suits for Yeouido vs. startups in hoodies for Teheran-ro).

Everyone wants to live in Seoul, and I believe that desire to live the same way is at the root of many social issues at a national level, including population decline.

Meanwhile, Jeju offers an alternative lifestyle on the other side of the country. Could Yangyang do the same? If remote work becomes mainstream, will Yangyang develop its own lifestyle?

Digital work—dealing with 0s and 1s—is moving into the metaverse. The more time we spend in that virtual layer, the more precious our time in the physical world becomes.

Personally, I want that time spent close to nature and meditate.

That’s why I am betting on Yangyang:

• Only 2–2.5 hours away from Seoul, with KTX and a major highway

• Ocean in the summer, mountains in the winter

How many people will return to the office after COVID? (I hope they give me a raise instead of paying for the Gangnam rent!)

The biggest reason I am drawn to Yangyang is its surfing community.

Surfing can be a sport—or it can be a lifestyle. Yangyang is home to those who have built their lives around it. Communities like the one at the Lanikai Surf Shop inspire me.

I believe communities will become the building blocks of society and the economy.

I don’t pretend to have all the answers about what a DAO is. To me, it represents autonomy.

What inspired me was the Onulun(오느른) project: a TV producer who bought an abandoned house in Gimje, started a YouTube channel, and built a thriving community around it. Now, with over 300k subscribers, they run a café, collaborate with artists like Yuhki Kuramoto, and even engage the community in decision-making through YouTube comments.

Isn’t that a DAO? If it could be structured in a way that the value created flows back to the contributors, it would be a perfect example for a DAO.

So here’s my rough sketch for the grand Enchovy Surfing Club:

• Start with 5–6 people who care about Yangyang, digital nomadism, autonomy, and alternative lifestyles.

• Set a goal for “Season 1” and work together to achieve it. Examples: build a café, create a coworking space, figure out funding and revenue-sharing, grow a community channel, design decision-making structures, etc..

• Once Season 1 is complete, recruit for Season 2 and repeat.

• Connect with similar DAOs worldwide (like CabinDAO). Come visit us at Yangyang!

So if you’re curious, doors always open. Nothing exists yet. We’ll make it together!

So far, I’ve got a designer friend (or a film director?) who claims to love surfing. She made our logo and told me to write: “As the Human Culture Manager of this community, I’m also supervising your tone to ensure kindness.”

“We would search but never find. The important thing was simply the act of searching. The ambition was doomed, and yet that was the only reward: a leap into emptiness I had dreamed of all my life. I shook hands with Barber and asked to be joined”

- <Moon Palace>, Paul Auster