How a Person Disappointed in Themselves Stands Back Up — Calmdown Man's 7 Years of Recovery

"A person who is the first to admit their own limitations has the right to start over in a different place."

One day in 2018, a man opens the door to a friend’s studio and walks in. In his hands, he carries a laptop and a gaming mouse. He was once an artist who defined an era of Korean B-grade ("byung-mat") webtoons, but for the past two years, not a single decent piece of work has come off his desk.

The place he entered was the studio of Joo Ho-min, a junior colleague and fellow webtoon artist. At this time, the subscriber count of his YouTube channel, "Calmdown Man" (ChimChakMan), was about 170,000. It was a number far too small to classify him as someone who had made it.

Yet, seven years later, his channel would surpass 4 million subscribers.

Today, we follow the seven-year journey of a man who was disappointed in his own cartoons, who stood back up in a corner of a friend’s studio, and who went on to build his own desk and his own family.

By the end of this article, you will realize that admitting your own limitations is not the end, but the beginning of your next chapter.

Place 1. A Monitor Turned On Next to an Empty Desk (His Bedroom, 2015 ~ 2017)

After completing "Lee Mal-nyeon Journey to the West," the next webtoon rarely grew on his desk. When someone is the first to feel that their own cartoons have become boring, it becomes difficult to even lift the pen at their desk.

What he did instead of leaving that desk empty was unexpected. He turned on his monitor and launched a card game: Hearthstone. It was a game he had been deeply absorbed in for a while.

He played it so much that he eventually grew tired of it. Normally, people would turn off the game at this point. He chose a different path.

"How can I play this in a way that isn't boring, and makes it more fun?"

The answer was clear: it would be fun to do it while talking with people. So, he started broadcasting himself. His streaming name was "Calmdown Man." It carried the meaning that in a game heavily influenced by luck, the person who stays even slightly calmer wins.

The truth he saw at this moment was this: even when your primary career is at a standstill, the thing you do most frequently will somehow lead you to your next chapter. Because he was playing games every day, broadcasting right alongside the games became his next stage.

Place 2. A Studio Where a Friend Shared His Space (Joo Ho-min's Studio, Seoul, 2018)

In mid-2018, he began sharing a space in his friend Joo Ho-min's studio. The scene of one cartoonist offering the desk next to theirs to another cartoonist was a rare sight in the Korean webtoon industry.

At first, it was just a simple cohabitation. But naturally, Joo Ho-min started appearing on Calmdown Man's streams from time to time. The chemistry between the two cartoonist friends drew an explosive response from viewers.

What he did in this studio is clear. He took the position he feared most—the pressure of having to carry every joke on his own—and transformed it into a space shared with a friend.

He didn't try to deliver every punchline himself. He sat in the seat of the person who best reacts to and absorbs his friend's jokes. He left the final punchline to his friend, paving the way for it to land perfectly.

In this studio, his channel began to grow from 170,000 to 500,000, and then to 700,000. A man who was disappointed in his own cartoons had discovered his next desk right next to his friend in the studio.

The truth he saw in this studio was this: when your limitations run deepest, having a single friend who is willing to share their space can move your life to the next desk.

Place 3. His Live Streaming Booth Where He Declared a Hiatus (Seoul, 2019 ~ 2023)

After the channel exploded, he moved his stage to his own studio. The decision he made at this point was an unusual choice in the Korean personal media scene. In an era when short, high-impact videos were considered the gold standard, he instead made long, laid-back live streams his main base.

Each live broadcast ran for several hours. During that time, he would play games, order and eat delivery food, chat with guests, wander off-topic, and eventually return to the main subject. His streams, flowing like a radio show, gradually became a deep part of the daily lives of Korean viewers.

In November 2021, Twitch announced the suspension of VOD content services in South Korea. He immediately announced simultaneous broadcasting on both YouTube and Twitch, quickly shifting his primary base. It was one of the fastest migrations of a stage in response to a platform's policy change.

But during the same period, a different burden weighed on his shoulders. The schedule of uploading six days a week grew increasingly heavy.

In September 2023, he posted a message on his fan community.

"I plan to take a long-term hiatus starting after this week's broadcast."

It was burnout. By his own account, he had endured it for nearly half a year. A live streamer's declaration to formally leave his stage empty showed just how far his channel had pushed him.

The truth he saw during this period was this: even those who reach the most glamorous heights cannot turn on their next live stream without leaving their stage empty at some point. Admitting one's limitations is not a one-time event. Every time your position changes, you must admit it all over again.

Place 4. Cartoonist Lee Mal-nyeon's Farewell and a Family's Dining Table (Radio Star Stage + His Home, August 2025)

Returning from his hiatus, he got the channel's momentum back on track. With 4.16 million subscribers and annual revenues in the range of 4.9 billion KRW, the company grew to run its own building, and the management of that company was largely handled by his wife, illustrator Kim Na-young. Meanwhile, he chatted on stage.

In August 2025, during an appearance on MBC's Radio Star, he made a formal announcement.

"The cartoonist Lee Mal-nyeon has retired. I have no plans to draw again."

This declaration was not merely a cartoonist's private decision. It was a social record of a person who had been the first to admit his limitations, accepted them, and formally moved on to another stage.

On the same stage, he left a video message for the veteran artist Huh Young-man.

"I should have met your expectations, but I ended up falling into the unorthodox path of internet broadcasting instead of walking the orthodox path of cartooning. I am sorry, yet deeply grateful for your interest."

Even in the moment of formally closing an identity in his life, he did not forget to show respect to the senior who nurtured that identity.

Returning home, he sat at his family's dining table as usual. He married illustrator Kim Na-young in November 2011, and they have one daughter. For his wife and daughter's birthdays, he wrote letters instead of giving special gifts, having his family collect those letters like a single book. The man who tossed casual banter on stage sat at the dining table at home as a writer of the most personal letters.

The truth he saw at this dining table was this: before a person can build their grandest stage, they must first establish their smallest dining table.

Epilogue

The message Calmdown Man's 7 years of recovery offers us is clear.

Admitting your own limitations first is not the end. It is the beginning of the next stage. The cartoonist Lee Mal-nyeon was someone disappointed in his own work, but because of that admission, he could formally step into his next role as the internet broadcaster Calmdown Man.

And one more thing: the fact that you cannot find your next stage alone. He began his recovery in the seat next to his friend Joo Ho-min in his studio. When your limitations run deepest, the fact that you have a friend who shares their space moves your life to the next desk.

The impression of someone living life easily is only the surface of the outcome. Beneath that surface lies a classroom where he envied a classmate's drawings, a lecture hall where he contemplated dropping out, the dawn hours behind a DVD rental shop counter, a desk left empty for five years, a friend's studio, and a single hiatus, all stacked one upon another.

The moment he admitted his limitations with his own mouth, the path to the next chapter opened.

Micro-Mission

Today, write down in a single line a limitation you have never formally admitted to yourself. The limitation you feel most deficient in, but have never spoken aloud to anyone.

In fact, I know that I am lacking in ( ). However, that place is no longer my main base. The next place is ( ).

Write it in a notebook, and speak that line to at least one person today. It could be a friend, a colleague, or a family member. Next to someone who is the first to bring up their own limitations, a person who shares a space surprisingly tends to appear.

Calmdown Man also began his recovery—in the seat next to his friend Joo Ho-min in his studio.

※ The factual background of this newsletter is based on public reports and interviews, including: a slump of about five years after the completion of "Lee Mal-nyeon Journey to the West" in 2016; the start of the nickname Calmdown Man through Hearthstone streaming; a subscriber count of about 170,000 when joining Joo Ho-min's studio in mid-2018, followed by a growth curve to 500,000 and 700,000; the announcement of the suspension of Twitch VOD services in Korea in November 2021 and the declaration of simultaneous streaming on YouTube and Twitch; the announcement of a long-term hiatus in September 2023 due to the burden of uploading six days a week and a burnout endured for nearly half a year; his marriage to illustrator Kim Na-young in November 2011; the current count of approximately 4.16 million subscribers and annual revenue in the range of 4.9 billion KRW; and the formal retirement declaration of cartoonist Lee Mal-nyeon on MBC's Radio Star in August 2025 along with messages to veteran cartoonists such as Huh Young-man.