One of my favorite stories is a very personal one because it only involved me and Blok Sensei.
We were at a beach house after a hard training session, having a barbecue, drinks, and spending time together. The evening was winding down, and I found myself standing across the kitchen bar talking with Blok Sensei.
After a minute or two, I realized something.
I realized that Sensei was doing the dishes.
For those unfamiliar with dojo culture, this was a major mistake on my part. The head Sensei should never be doing dishes. In fact, if his beer is empty and he wants another one, it should be in his hand before he even thinks to ask. That's the spirit of the training.
And there I was, standing in my own house, casually talking while the highest-ranking Sensei in the room was washing dishes.
The moment I saw it, I knew.
I had missed it.
But I also realized it was too late.
If I suddenly jumped in and said, "No, Sensei, let me do that," I would only make a bigger scene out of it. The lesson had already happened.
Then I saw it.
A little twinkle in his eye.
He knew that I knew.
And he kept right on doing the dishes.
For the next ten minutes we continued our conversation while he calmly washed dishes in front of me.
He never corrected me.
He never lectured me.
He never embarrassed me.
He simply let me sit with the realization.
What made the lesson so powerful was that he wasn't irritated. He wasn't disappointed. He wasn't teaching me through guilt.
He was smiling.
There was joy in it.
There was compassion in it.
He understood exactly what had happened, and he could see that I understood it too.
Nothing needed to be said.
The lesson was complete the moment I saw it.
We never really talked about it afterward. There was no discussion, no explanation, and no follow-up.
It was simply one of those rare lessons that arrives all at once.
To this day, it remains one of the most meaningful lessons I've ever received.