I want to ‘get back to’ something, like trying to re-start that fantastic dream, one I just woke from.
Magnificent memory – to read about, write about – of those rare occasions when it genuinely happens. When compelled by something to the exclusion of all else, focus is delicious, productive, and oddly relaxing activity. It leaves me drained, both physically and emotionally, while also leaving me feeling filled to the brim with life, sometimes overflowing a bit too.
Bliss state, with someone special, euphoric about some memorable magic moment or success event, or simplistic as serenity of working in a garden, or skiing down an intermediate mogul littered slope bathed in sunshine. My most exhilarating, flying around my own kitchen preparing a big meal – completely engrossed, mind absent of any distractions du jour, that’s the kind of focus I seek every day. Yet it is rarely on that level.
Whenever and wherever I’ve found superior levels of absorption, it has held my focus – elusive and compelling. More than a short adrenalin rush – it often comes at times of complete exhaustion when superlatives and expletives cannot remotely approach sufficient emphasis.
I get overjoyed whenever I find some new way, some new set of circumstances – place, ritual, routine, preparation, the challenge is to remain in that state of mind.
We settled for paper, wood, and leaves to show us sunlight could be harnessed, our early research into understanding solar power – an essential first lesson on focus. I easily flash-back to being a child, using my magnifying glass to focus concentrated sunlight onto something flammable, we learned so much we’d never forget. Most of us didn’t cause too much trouble because friends, dogs, and cats wouldn’t sit still long enough for us to ‘brand’ them.
I crave that concentration, the euphoric physical state that comes with it, on-demand, but it doesn’t show up that way. I wish it did. I ache for a non-metaphorical intellectual on-off switch in my head.