When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.
How to Embrace Openness and Humility on the Journey of Lifelong Learning
There’s a saying that goes, “When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.” For a long time, I used to think this meant that some wise, mystical figure would suddenly show up in my life the moment I hit a certain level of maturity or understanding. He would be like the mentor in “The Hero’s Journey,” an Obi-Wan Kenobi or Gandalf-type teacher coming out from nowhere to my aid.
A bit like unlocking a new level in a computer game.
But now, I see it differently. I believe that the teacher—or the lessons we need—have always been there. It’s just that we rarely notice them until we’re truly ready to learn.
The Journey to Readiness
When I look back, and recall those moments when I’ve been ready to learn something new, it’s usually when I’ve reached a point of knowing that I don’t know. It’s a humbling experience admitting that my mind is full of assumptions, old ideas, and the need to be right:
The Zen Master and the Professor
A university professor, known for his scholarly achievements, once visited a Zen master to learn about Zen. The professor was full of his own knowledge and eager to share his thoughts as the Zen master began to speak. As the master explained the teachings, the professor frequently interrupted, trying to relate the new information to his own knowledge and experiences.
After a while, the Zen master decided to serve tea. He poured the tea into the professor’s cup, but even after the cup was full, the master kept pouring. The tea overflowed, spilling onto the table and the floor.
The professor exclaimed, “Stop! The cup is full. It can’t hold any more!”
The Zen master calmly replied, “Like this cup, you are full of your own opinions and speculations. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?”
This story is often used to illustrate the importance of approaching learning with an open mind, free from preconceived notions and intellectual arrogance. In order to truly learn something new, one must first let go of old ideas and be open to new experiences and insights, much like an empty cup ready to receive fresh tea.
Empty my cup
I’ve had to “empty my cup” many times throughout my life, and let go of the need to prove myself. I have had to open up to the fact that I am often ignorant, and there’s much more I have yet to understand. This is not faking humility (which you can always tell) but a genuine recognition.
This Zen idea of “beginner’s mind,” now resonates with me often. For me, it’s about approaching most things as if for the first time, without the baggage of experiences clouding my judgement.
This is difficult, especially when I’ve spent years building up knowledge and life experience. Although these can be useful, they can also become a hindrance towards new knowledge and possibilities.
I remember an event that I think illustrates this well.
When I was running a restaurant, I had my teenage boys come to help when I was doing my preps, and maybe learn how to cook.
On one occasion, when I was cutting some carrots, my 14-year-old son said, in a somewhat reprimanding tone, “Daddy, you are holding your knife all wrong. You should hold it this way…” as he took my knife from my hands and showed me. He explained why, in details, as I listened to my young apprentice-turned-teacher.
“Daddy, you are holding your knife all wrong. You should hold it this way…”
He had recently learned how to hold the knife properly from a friend who was a chef.
It was difficult to describe the pride and humiliation that happened at the same time. Me, at 53, running a restaurant, learning how to hold my knife properly that day, from my son and student. But he was right, of course, and I now hold my knife correctly.
It’s in that moment of admitting that I know less than he did that I’ve learned something new.
Recognizing the Teacher
I realise that the “teacher” doesn’t always show up in the form we expect. Sometimes, it’s an experience, a challenge, or even a setback that pushes us to grow. Sometimes, it is your student or your teenage son. The important thing is to recognise these moments for what they are: as the teacher appearing.
Often when I am stuck or frustrated by a problem that just wouldn’t go away, I’d be searching for answers, or for someone to guide me. And then, as if by magic, a solution would present itself. But looking back, I realised that the solution—or the teacher—was always there. I just wasn’t in the right mindset to see it. It’s almost like the universe has this way of waiting for us to be ready before it reveals what we need to learn.
The Power of Letting Go
One of the biggest shifts for me has been learning to let go of the idea that I need to have all the answers. This usually comes with age. In fact, some of the most valuable lessons come when I’ve admitted that I don’t know. It’s those moments of vulnerability, when I’ve allowed myself to be honest about my ignorance, that I’ve found the most growth.
The idea of “knowing that you know nothing” is at the heart of Socratic philosophy, and it’s a lesson that has stuck with me. Socrates believed that true wisdom starts with admitting we don’t know. It’s a humbling realisation, but it’s also incredibly freeing.
When I recognise the limits of what I know, it opens up a world of curiosity. It pushes me to ask questions, to dig deeper, and to think critically about what I’m learning. This intellectual humility—this willingness to keep questioning—is what Socrates believed was the key to discovering truth and gaining knowledge.
When I first heard that, I thought it was just a kind of fake, arrogant humility. A low-key and cool statement to actually imply that I know a lot. That was my teenage apprehension.
But as I grow older, the more I see the truth in it. There’s also something incredibly freeing about admitting I don’t have all the answers. It opens the door to learning, to questioning, and to growing in ways I never thought possible as a younger person.
Learning in Everyday Life
These days, I think a lot about how this idea of readiness applies to everyday life. Whether it’s a new skill, a relationship, or even just navigating the day-to-day challenges that we face. The teachers are always present. It’s just a matter of whether I’m ready to see them.
When I am frustrated with a situation, or when things are not going as planned, it’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking that the situation is hopeless. Yet when I take a step back to look at what’s happening, I often see the solution that was there all the time. It may not be what I like or expect, or even something I absolutely dread, but I know then that this is the best way forward.
Maybe it’s about patience, or learning to communicate better, or even just realising that things can’t always go my way. Whatever it was, the lesson was there all along. I just had to be ready to learn it.
Embracing the Process
This idea of “the teacher appearing when the student is ready” puts the power back in my hands. It reminds me that learning isn’t just about waiting for the right moment or the right person to come along. It’s about letting go of preconceptions and being open-minded, about preparing myself mentally and emotionally to receive the lessons that life is offering.
The more I focus on personal growth—on being open, curious, and willing to learn—the more my teachers seem to appear. Sometimes they come as a book that speaks to what I’m going through, or a conversation that sheds new light on an old problem. Other times, they show up in moments of silence, when I’m finally able to hear the lessons that have been waiting for me all along.
A Personal Reminder
As I continue on this journey, I’m reminding myself to stay open. To empty my cup and keep that beginner’s mind. To let go of the need to know it all, and instead, embrace the idea that the learning never really stops. The teacher is always there, just waiting for me to be ready.
And when I am, they appear as if by magic. But the magic is in the readiness, in the willingness to learn. It’s a journey I’m still on, and one I suspect I’ll be on for a while. And that’s okay, because the journey is the lesson.
And for that, I’m grateful.
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