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I’d just finished my Japanese final and trudged on down to the Pub to relax for a few. I was greeted by a friend of mine who’d just come off a long few weeks of work punctuated by an otherwise enjoyable weekend with a female acquaintance. Somewhere through the evening he related a story regarding an indictment posed as a theorem, that crux being that people who work in the hospitality industry, as he does, may be lacking something that they’re trying to make up for in their work life, that there’s something they’ve missed out on and feel compelled to compensate for.

I passionately disagreed, at least as far the generalization goes. Why assume that there’s something missing? Where is the benefit of the doubt, where is the _ yum_? I told him as much, and went so far as to assert that, “It’s the completely wrong way of looking at it.”

“Are we so perfect or complacent to believe that we are ‘all that we could be,’ as the Army likes to say? Does one actually believe that we’ve achieved the pinnacle of perfection and omniscience? Don’t we still have lifetimes of interactions to experience, each one of which will inform us, positive or negative, of our relationships in this world?”

“You particularly, being in the hospitality industry, are privy to more expressions of humanity and individuality than just about any other field. Would it not be a monument of ego to presume that we have it all? Are we never to old or inexperienced to learn something new? It’s not ‘what am I missing?’ rather, it’s ‘what can I add?’ Not, ‘what completes me,’ but ‘what enlightens me?’. What pushes me, what forces me to re-examine myself and others? What can I gain, and out of that, what can I pass on to others? How can I affect others as they’ve affected me?”

Midway through my diatribe, I realized I was answering both the statement addressed to him as well as elucidating and refining my answer to a question asked of me a long while ago: “What drives a man to train so hard, what is missing from his character?” My initial response is nothing, nothing is missing, nothing is a deficit, it is part of who I am. And while I believe there’s still truth to this answer, clarification presented itself: be it nature or nurture or both, there is a part of me that does not want to assume I’ve reached perfection. To make that assumption refutes the very assumption. As my old Sifu in Phoenix said once, “If you’ve met your own expectations, they’re probably not high enough.”

To assume that there’s nothing left to learn presumes godliness. I am not a god. I am not a master. I am just someone walking a path. Everyone, no matter who, can teach me something nontrivial. A sapling is not ‘incomplete’ or ‘missing’ something because it isn’t yet a towering redwood, but it will continue to grow and encompass so much more than it is right now.

My recognition of this isomorphism continued tangential to another memory: I had just filmed some techniques for my Sensei, and the person filming asked me, “Would you like to film again?”

“No. I believe it accurately presents my theme and the techniques, which is the point of this exercise.”

“Is it perfect?”

“Of course not.”

“If it’s not perfect, why don’t you want to film it again?”

“Because it will never be perfect. I will always be learning and improving. This does not end here. When I can no longer improve, I will be dead.”

“If this is your only chance to film this, would you be satisfied?”

“I already answered your question, so now I’ll answer a question larger than you’re currently asking. Your question was, ‘Am I satisfied with this rendition?’ And I say, ‘Yes, it is the best I have tonight.’ But now I’m answering the question, ‘Am I satisfied my evolution?’, and my answer is ‘No, God no, and I hope that never changes.’”