A skilled magician is a usually a master of misdirection.  While keeping the audience’s attention focused on something that seems important but isn’t, the magician is accomplishing a clever deception just to the side.  The cognitive bias known as “inattentional blindness” or “perceptual blindness” causes our brains to ignore vast quantities of sensory information.  If we are vigilantly focused on one thing, this inattentional blindness can be even stronger.  (I like to this this is why an almost-13-year-old with a paintbrush in her hand doesn’t hear my voice saying it’s time to set the table for dinner).

Inattentional blindness is a characteristic of the human brain that storytelling and storytellers can really use to advantage, and parents often do it quite naturally.  In fact, most parents will quickly develop a whole bag of tricks for distracting a child’s attention from something that is happening or just about to happen.  From bright noisy toys to the spell-binding “Once upon a time,” misdirection tends to narrow the focal range and shut out the rest of the world – for a while.

And yet while the attention is focused, the world is still there.  It doesn’t actually go away, and we may absorb those sensory inputs without being aware.  Here is a story my mother told me once that made a deep impression on me.   Because time is part of the our physical experience, patience is associated with physical courage.  So, here’s a story combining physical courage and the art of misdirection.

Long ago in China, a young man set his heart on becoming a master jade carver.  Fired with enthusiasm, he went to the greatest jade carver in the land and asked to become his student.  The master agreed, and placed a piece of jade in the young man’s hand.  “Please sit, we can begin right away.”

The young man eagerly sat with the stone in his hand, his gaze on the teacher.  “Please tell me everything you know about jade.”

Nodding, the old man began to tell a long and rambling story about his own youth, and the student waited patiently for the lesson to begin.  The story was actually a bit boring in parts, and the student clenched the jade in his hand to curb his impatience while the old man went on and on.  At last, the master said, “Oh, it is late.  You must come back tomorrow.”

The next day the student came again, and the master handed him another piece of jade.  “Here, take a seat.  Let us begin.”  Now I will learn everything about jade! the student said to himself.  But to his great disappointment, the master carver launched into another long story.  The student tried very hard to focus on this story, sure that at any moment it was going to get to the point.  But again, the master interrupted his own story and said, “Oh dear.  It’s time for dinner.  Come back tomorrow.”

Day after day this went on, with the teacher handing the student yet another piece of stone.  Every day the student listened with his whole heart, trying to understand how these stories were teaching him everything about jade while he held one stone after another in his hands.  He grew discouraged, thinking he had made a terrible mistake.  At last, after this had gone on for many months, he arrived at his teacher’s house and said, “Master, forgive me, but when will you teach me about jade?”

The jade carver picked up yet another piece of stone and tossed it to the young man, who caught it deftly in two hands.  “Now, this piece of jade -” the master began.

“This is not jade,” said the student, who had not even opened his hands to look at the stone.

The teacher nodded.  “Ah, I see I have now taught you everything I know.”