One Sunday afternoon after particularly hard training session, a group of us went out for dim sum with Sensei.
There were probably ten or twelve of us sitting around a large table. We had trained hard, we were hungry, and the food had finally arrived.
There was only one problem.
Sensei was in the middle of telling a story.
In our dojo culture, you didn't start eating before Sensei. So there we all sat, starving, listening intently while plate after plate of food filled the table.
The conflict was written all over our faces.
Part of us was listening.
Part of us was already eating in our imagination.
Every one of us wanted the food.
Meanwhile, Sensei continued telling his story.
Eventually he looked up and noticed what was happening.
He saw a table full of hungry students trying their best to pay attention while fighting the urge to dive into the food.
A smile spread across his face.
"Osu."
He picked up his chopsticks and took a bite.
Instantly everyone else began eating.
A few minutes later, Sensei continued his story while we listened and enjoyed the meal.
It was a small moment, but I've never forgotten it.
The lesson wasn't about food.
The lesson was about conflict.
Part of me wanted one thing.
Part of me wanted another.
And for a brief moment, my attention was split between the two.
Sensei saw it immediately.
With a smile and a single bite of food, the conflict disappeared.
Sometimes lessons arrive in a basket of dumplings.