Focus.
A strange word that achieves its effect merely by being stated.
It rallies the mind and centers it on a singular object, a singular task. The task at hand. The urgent, pressing task that demands our attention.
Can anything be accomplished without it? Not intentionally.
It is a glorious sensation, the knowledge that our mind has honed itself in on something important and will not let it go. Not until a conscious decision has been made to let it go.
Distractions become annoyances, to be batted away like irrelevant flies buzzing by for a moment. The insistent ones draw anger until they can be forgotten.
Drill down. Hone it. Shape it. Care for it. For the result. For the art of what you are doing.
Whether listening to a loved one’s day, reading a book, painting a masterpiece, or performing surgery, to focus is to be at peace with oneself and one’s purpose. To know one’s purpose for that moment and determined to accomplish it.
It is a perfection of will, even if temporary.
Focus.
Zack's Desk 