Why I Love a Good Challenge (*And What My Next One Might Be*)
A lifelong obsession with challenges, lists, and curiosity—long career at Disney, life-altering health crisis, recovery, and reinvention. Chasing milestones, redefining success, & rediscovering joy.
Photo: Agios Sostis beach, Mykonos, Greece | ©Keli Lee
I’ve always loved a good challenge. Maybe that’s why I like making lists—usually kept in a notebook, sometimes scribbled on loose sheets of paper—things to do, places to see, where to travel, where to eat. I’ve had a list for everything. Lists help me keep track, stay grounded, avoid those middle-of-the-night panics that I’ve forgotten something… and, of course, feel that little hit of satisfaction every time I checked something off. Yes, even if it was something as small as finally changing that burnt-out light bulb outside—you know, the one meant to keep me from tripping on the walkway or fumbling with my keys in the pitch dark every single night, the one I'd successfully ignored for weeks (okay, months)—checking it off still gave me a genuine sense of accomplishment. Those little wins added up, and they always made me feel better.
It’s Monday, June 23rd, two days after the Summer Solstice (my favorite season of the year), and exactly fourteen days until my birthday. (And somehow only 178 days until the end of the year. Where does the time go??)
Anyone else feel like birthdays are just another version of New Year’s—reflecting on what you’ve accomplished (or not), promising you’ll finally start using that meditation app you downloaded months ago, and insisting you’ll definitely stop procrastinating (starting tomorrow, obviously)? Tell me I’m not alone here…
For anyone who procrastinates, lists really do help. They keep everything in one place, so all the anxiety lives in the notebook instead of in your head.
Of course, making the list is one thing. Taking on the challenge? That’s where the fun begins.
Signing up for your first half marathon in the hills of Santa Ynez without quite enough time to train? That’s a challenge.
Finishing it anyway? Even better.
We chose Santa Ynez not just because it was picturesque, but because—obviously—it’s known for its wine. The weekend was meant to be part wellness, part wine tasting. What could go wrong?
Besides it being California’s early, intense wildfire season—a huge fire broke out just days before the race. Smoke from nearby Santa Barbara fires blanketed the region, and at times the weekend felt slightly surreal as trails and roads filled with haze. Have you ever found yourself secretly hoping an event gets canceled last minute? We kept checking to see if the race would be canceled, but no—it was still going on—even though, by then, I was terrified of tackling those winding hills with my not-quite-enough training. (I might have been praying for a cancellation notice right up until that morning!)
Most of the friends who had signed up with me bailed—from the race, not the weekend. They still showed up for the wine tasting (of course), but not the run. Priorities, right? Only two actually ran it with me—and one of them made fun of me for wearing water packs around my waist (though I’m pretty sure he regretted his fashion-first choice when I cruised past the water stations without stopping). Fortunately, there are no photos of me in that very practical—but highly unfashionable—attire, since no one showed up to take pictures. Probably for the best. :)
The rest had decided they were too hungover from wine tasting the night before to cheer us on at the finish line. So the sober three of us ran it anyway. We skipped the wine, embraced the hills, and finished what we started.
It was a fun weekend — full of great memories and ridiculous little adventures that still make me laugh.
But I digress. Back to the list.
At 14, I wrote a list of everything I wanted to accomplish and everywhere I wanted to go. I know this because I recently found that old list—handwritten, folded into a notebook—and laughed at how specific and earnest I was.
I’ve kept every notebook from back then—and from all my years at Disney. They're filled with lists, ideas, goals, plans. Looking back at them now, I realize how much of my life has been shaped by the quiet act of writing things down—and then daring to go after them.
On that list from when I was 14:
– Make $50,000 by the time I was 25
– Get married by 28
– Visit 100 countries (Mission accomplished. 100+ and counting. Greece was the first country I saved up for —entirely funded by my after-school jobs during high school—and visited solo at 18—in the cheapest, least glamorous way imaginable, yet it was also the most memorable.)
Well, I made $50K by 22 and felt like I had hit the jackpot—and that there was nothing greater to achieve!
As for marriage—I had already changed my mind before I reached 30. Though I did get married, it didn’t last very long. (That third sober person who showed up to the race—no, not the embarrassed one, the other one- was my husband at the time.) It’s hard to commit to someone else when you haven’t fully found yourself yet—or figured out what’s truly important in life.
My obsession with seeing the world started when I was 7, after my dad gave me a globe. I’d spin it endlessly, dreaming about where I’d go and who I might become.
I fell in love with geography as a child—and to this day, I can still name all 196 (or 197, depending on which guide you use) countries in the world. It might be my only true party trick: I have a strangely specific memory for things like that. I remember some capitals, some borders, and a few flags—but not all. Ask me all the countries in South America—I can list them in under a minute. (Granted, it’s the easiest continent to remember, only 12 countries, after all. ) But ask me the lyrics to my go-to karaoke song, even after singing it hundreds of times? No chance. How many more times will I need to sing Madonna’s “Like a Prayer” (loudly, badly—but always enthusiastically!) before memorizing it? Apparently, a few hundred more—and even then…
Eventually, my personal milestone lists were replaced by to-do lists for college and career. At 18, I was juggling three jobs—one of them at Warner Bros.—while attending NYU full-time and paying for school myself. It wasn’t glamorous, but at 18 you don’t know any better—and I had all the energy in the world like most 18-year-olds. Everything was new. I was learning every day. And even though it was a means of survival, it was also exciting and so different from my mornings studying Hegel and Heidegger at school. Yes, I was a philosophy major—perhaps not the most obvious choice for a career in film and television, but you'd be surprised how often existential questions pop up during deal negotiations. And at the time, I hadn’t even considered a career in film and television. My parents, like most good Korean immigrant parents (actually, like most Asian immigrant parents), expected something more practical. Naturally, I planned on attending law school. Clearly, the universe had other ideas.
By 19, I was at ABC and became an executive there at 21. I finished school early, thanks to starting at UCLA at 16 and stacking AP credits that fast-tracked my college path. I was constantly doing the next thing, rarely stopping to catch my breath.
At 23, I was lured to Los Angeles from my beloved New York, where I grew up and never thought I would leave, to work at Disney—which was separate from ABC at the time—by my best and most cherished boss, Gene Blythe, a true mentor and father figure, who believed in me before I believed in myself.
But I couldn’t even rent a car because I wasn’t 25 yet. As a New Yorker, I never needed one. So when Disney had to co-sign, it was a small but humbling reminder that despite the title, I was still only 23.
A few years of LA sunshine later, I stopped daydreaming about moving back to New York—especially when I remembered walking through freezing wind tunnels or nearly slipping on black ice in heels on a West Village sidewalk.
By 25, I was a vice president at Disney. And, at 29, I launched ABC/Disney Discovers—a suite of programs specifically designed not only to find, nurture, mentor, and invest in underrepresented creative talent, but also to provide a platform where their talent could be seen, recognized, and connected directly to meaningful opportunities in film and television. At the time, nothing quite like it existed in the industry. It was part of a broader, intentional strategy we created not only to fundamentally redefine the face of television, but also to strategically position Disney at the forefront of a cultural shift. I’m proud it has helped kickstart the careers of some of today’s most recognizable and award-winning talent—and that we tackled representation head-on, not just within a single program but across all of our shows. None of this would have been possible without the unwavering support of my mentor, who guided and inspired me throughout that chapter.
I know I’ve been fortunate in many ways, even though the path was far from easy. I'm deeply grateful to those who supported me in the early stages of my career, opening doors when they had no reason to—other than kindness.
By the time I was 33, my mentor was ready to retire, and he selected me to succeed him, leading the departments we had built together. But after several fulfilling yet demanding years, I was itching for a new challenge. I saw an untapped opportunity in building an international TV business for the company—just as I had once seen ABC/Disney Discovers as a strategic opportunity for both emerging talent and for Disney itself. I was ready to dive into something new, driven by the same combination of creative passion and business vision.
When I moved to London to launch and run Disney’s international television division, everything intensified. For nearly four years, I was sleeping only four hours a night—working across time zones, building a new business from the ground up, juggling global productions, tight deadlines, and constant international travel. It was exciting, exhilarating, and relentless. But be careful what you wish for. Eventually, the exhaustion caught up with me. It broke me. I didn’t just burn out—I collapsed. My body shut down, and I physically couldn’t move.
Stopping wasn’t exactly a choice—not when you wake up to paramedics with a defibrillator urgently trying to save your life, spend eight days in the ICU with doctors fighting to keep you alive like an intense episode of Grey’s Anatomy, and then land at Mayo Clinic—unless I was secretly aiming for a cameo in a Six Feet Under reboot. (Sadly, that reboot isn’t happening—and honestly, I’m pretty happy to avoid an early grave.)
Recovery wasn’t instant, linear, or remotely easy as I'd hoped. It was terrifying. I thought if I disconnected long enough from my four international mobile phones (yes, four—please don’t ask), my list-making, and the world itself, I’d bounce back quickly. But no. It took deliberate effort. It took patience. It took every ounce of strength I had—and then some.
When I finally did start to feel better, everything felt unfamiliar. And I felt lost. I’d always had a clear plan, a packed schedule, and a corporate calendar driving me forward. Letting all that go was uncomfortable but freeing too—and it also meant learning to build something entirely new, on my own terms.
I share this not just to talk about myself (trust me, I’m tired of hearing myself talk about myself—I’ve reread and edited this enough times already!), but because I’ve realized how universal these moments of uncertainty, reinvention, and rediscovery really are.
I knew I couldn’t return to the corporate world—not because any company would have expected that relentless pace from me, but because I wasn’t ready to set those boundaries for myself. Not yet. That part would take time—and more personal growth than I even knew I needed.
The pandemic, in a strange way, gave me space to do that. While the world was on pause, I was too—recovering, reevaluating, and reflecting. And like many people, I began to see more clearly who I wanted to spend time with, what truly mattered to me, and what I no longer needed to carry forward. I also started to consider who I wanted to be, what I stood for, and how I wanted to lead and live my life in this next chapter.
I realize my struggles pale compared to what many people face every day, but these experiences profoundly reshaped how I view my place in the world.
Since my recovery, I rediscovered joy and fun — and have been tapping into parts of myself I didn’t have time or space for before. In fact, I feel better and stronger than ever (well, maybe not compared to my 25-year-old self!). I’ve said yes to things I never could have imagined a decade ago: investing in a professional women’s soccer team, backing startups focused on space tech and innovation, and supporting companies exploring wellness, sustainability, social connection, international markets, and new approaches to media.
I helped challenge the status quo of a sports organization during a period of massive disruption. I’ve learned to follow my curiosity and instincts again—and trust them.
And I’ve been quietly immersed in a personal passion project—one that’s challenged and stretched me in unexpected ways. It’s taught me more about myself, my family history, my culture, and the world than I ever anticipated. Along the way, I’ve met incredible people and heard stories that have stayed with me. It’s been one of the most rewarding parts of this chapter.
I’ve reconnected—with family, old friends, and myself. For years, I was so consumed by work that I wasn’t fully present. Having the chance to reconnect with people who matter most has grounded me, reminding me that relationships are my greatest source of joy, inspiration, and strength. Now, with a clearer sense of how I want to spend my time, I'm excited about the summer ahead in Europe—setting my next challenge while finishing projects I began last year.
Earlier this year, I wrote about my unexpected journey to Switzerland—a trip that began in heartbreak but opened up space for something new. Since then, I’ve not only rebuilt my health, but also how I move through the world, and I’m still figuring it out. One list, one challenge at a time.
Most recently, it was my UK Wellness Spa Hotel challenge—a quest that started as research and turned into something joyful: a way to restore myself, one beautiful experience at a time. The real challenge? Sticking to a schedule when you’re sitting in front of a view that looks like a postcard. When every cobblestone street or seaside café is whispering, stay a little longer.
So what should the next challenge be? Maybe it’s discovering Europe’s hidden gems—the countries and cities that aren’t on every “must-see” list. Not just France, Italy, and Spain… but places like Albania, Slovenia, Malta, and Poland. The kind of destinations you fall in love with before everyone else does. Maybe it’s a travel challenge. Maybe it’s a creative one. Maybe it’s a mix of both.
I'm still chasing new challenges, still up for the next adventure, still as curious as that seven-year-old spinning her globe—wondering what's next. But the view from here is clearer now, and I'm enjoying the ride again, one challenge (and one list) at a time.
Next list:
🌍🍽️ Travel + Exploration + Dining
Mongolia and Bhutan—and a few other countries on Trump’s new banned list (before they ban us too!)—by Fall 2026.
Antarctica (to complete all seven continents)—by 2026.
Europe's hidden gems: Albania, Slovenia, Malta, Poland—before the crowds arrive—by Summer/Fall 2025.
Eat at every restaurant on the World’s 100 Best Restaurants list—by June 2026 (before the next list is released—only 97 left to go!)
Dinner under the Northern Lights—by Winter 2025–2026.
⚽✨ Culture + Curiosity
Catch a live soccer (football) match featuring the national team of every World Cup-qualified country I haven't yet seen play live, in anticipation of the 2026 FIFA World Cup hosted by the U.S., Canada, and Mexico—by Summer 2026.
🌿✨ Wellness + Creativity
Wellness + spa adventure across Europe (think: the UK spa challenge, but sunnier)—by Summer/Fall 2025.
Passion project completion—by Dec 31, 2025.
🎤☀️ Personal
Learn the lyrics to "Like a Prayer"—finally (no deadline, but seriously, it's time).
Make a new list (before the current one ends)—ongoing.
Remember the best is yet to come—ongoing.
I spent over two decades at The Walt Disney Company building and running the international content business, leading casting and talent operations and strategy, and championing artists. Now, I advise, invest in, and support companies at the intersection of culture, creativity, wellness, innovation, and connection—with an international lens—while continuing to elevate creative talent and founders.
I'm privileged to serve on the board of the Aspen Institute, and as a Henry Crown Fellow, I'm honored to be part of a community committed to values-based leadership.
In every role, my focus remains on bold ideas, new voices, and meaningful experiences across industries. After a life-altering health crisis, I began rethinking how I live and what I value.
This space is where I reflect, reset, and share what I’m discovering along the way—through challenges, travel, the things I love most, and everything that continues to inspire me, bring me joy, and remind me that challenges are where life’s best adventures begin.
Subscribe, follow, and join me on this journey — and let me know which challenges you’re taking on, or what I should add to my list. The more, the merrier!