Sushi Express
[Content warning: Neutral mentions of controlled eating.]
Dear friend,
I like Sushi Express. Although I’ve heard it described as an inferior option for sushi, I am very fond of it. It’s cheaper than most other conveyor belt sushi places, which means I get to eat at ease, without being too hung up on the accumulating cost of my meal. Being very casual (for a sushi place), it also attracts a lot of students and t-shirt-and-shorts families as opposed to teenagers or young adults in trendy clothing. (I feel more at ease with the former groups.) It has also become a haunt for me when I wish to eat alone. I have a sort of ritual when I go there, one which allows me to recharge my energy.
Conveyor belt sushi is surreal and trope-y. Its constant winding flow of food gives a sense of abundance, while the fact that it’s a closed loop catering to a group creates a sense of urgency. Huddled up against (what appears to be) an endless flow of food is an awareness that other people might be looking out for the same dishes, and that while more will come, certain options do run out for periods of time. You must capture what you want when it comes.
The strange urgency the whole setup evokes, coupled with my fondness for Sushi Express, has made the restaurant an unexpected training ground for me. Seated there, I’ve practiced patience, by not taking and eating more than one plate of sushi at a time. Pleasure, by slowing my eating down against the pace of the conveyor belt, and savouring each bite with care and awareness. Abstinence, by paying attention to when my desire for another plate is actually due to boredom (from waiting and watching the belt for so long) or greed (wanting to prolong the experience even though I am full). Awareness, by breathing mindfully and looking at the other people around me as we all sit amidst this snaking machine. Against its business principles, Sushi Express has helped me become more conscious of the shapes and edges of my feelings and desires, and in doing so made me a slower and smaller consumer.
I’m amused, because I never walked into my favourite casual sushi place wanting to train my mind. I think I’m just very sensitive and responsive toward things which destabilize or challenge my rhythm — whether that rhythm at any given moment is my pulsing ambition, my precocious curiosity, or my insistence on moving slowly. The moment there is something I can resist or work against, I’m there, I’m activated, I’m awake. Although I’m wary of using opposition as a source of drive and purpose, what first manifested as angry defiance in my teenage years has become a quieter antifragility that I’m thankful for.
Besides the slight hilarity and absurdity of it all, what I also like about this Sushi Express thing is the reminder that the most mundane or unexpected environments are in fact wonderful environments for practicing. And by practicing I mean practicing any sort of emotional, mental or spiritual habit that you’re trying to nurture for yourself. As I’ve heard a few times now from different teachers — sometimes inconducive environments and situations are the ones in which you’re most called upon to practice. The moment in which you’re losing your temper is the best moment for you to practice compassion, forgiveness and patience. The moment in which you’re disappointed is the best moment in which to practice understanding and empathy.
The next time you’re met with antagonistic energy, or feel something like impatience or irritation well up within you, perhaps you can choose to practice something difficult. And perhaps it is useful to know that whatever you choose to practice must first be extended to yourself. Before you can be patient with your antagonist, you must be patient with yourself, for getting angry or irritated or disappointed. When you’ve managed to build that first little landing, you can expand the bubble of patience outward until it encloses the other person, until you can look at them with understanding — that we all act out because we suffer and do not know what to do with our suffering.
🌾
Here are related questions which I’ve been asking myself wordlessly, which I’ve worded here for you. I hope they might be useful.
When are you most distracted and scattered, and why? Is there a defence mechanism in motion, helping you escape and stay safe in a stressful situation? If so, is the defence mechanism still useful, or is it left over from another life?
Why do you rush? Are all the reasons useful ones? Do they all align with the person you wish to be, or the world you wish to bring into being?
When you rush, sometimes you’re not just speeding towards but also speeding away from something. What’s chasing you, what are you afraid of?
Do you sometimes rush out of habit? Do you have activities or routines which could afford more slowness and awareness?
May you go slowly, my friend.
Peaceful in the night,
Kia Yee