Five steps for focus: Considering what object meditation can offer us on our eternal quest for "focus"
- bethann29
- 11 minutes ago
- 3 min read
I’ve been thinking some more about what it takes to focus. And on what we choose to gift our attention to. In particular, although I’ve recently run and attended two separate writing-related retreats/workshops, most of the time I must fit my writing, art, and really any kind of creative expression, into the rest of the demands and opportunities of my life. And, as I’ve mentioned a few times, I was diagnosed with ADHD at 38, which contributes another whole level of considerations to the question of focus.
In any case, focusing is an on-going project of mine. For years I’ve heard about gratitude journals[1]. I’ve read that this practice can help you calm down, be more centered, appreciate the simple things, reduce impulse purchasing, etc. I’ve even heard more than one mental health professional recommend gratitude practices for all sorts of reasons. These all seem like useful contributions to the effort of focusing.
But I just. can. not.
I’m not going to delve, today, into why I don’t feel any desire to do a gratitude journal.
Instead, I want to share a practice from which I experience similar benefits. I’ve maintained this practice for years now—ever since I read about it in one of the Dalai Lama’s many books (wish I could recall which one).
The practice is called object meditation, and it works considerably differently from what I assumed when I first heard about it.
Notice something specific, like a flower or leaf. (You might just as well notice the scent of freshly brewed tea, or the sound of your dog’s breathing as he sleeps, or the feel of the wind on your cheeks.)
Pay enough attention to this thing that you notice something much more detailed and special about it. For example, upon looking closer, you see the pattern of frost or fungal spots on that flower or leaf. The frost crystals may be a surprise or delight to you, as they are unexpected when you first glance at the leaf!
This is where the practice shifts from what I thought it might be to what it actually is. Now, you think of someone (or everyone, in the “may all beings…” sense) and wish for them that they will, likewise, notice and experience a moment of profound focus and seeing during their day, today.
In my case, I also always take a picture, and sometimes I write a single-verse haiku [2] to try to capture/distill what I’ve noticed.
Perhaps you notice many small, delightful, and profound things during the day. If, like me, you want to center on one of them at the end of the day, you could try the final step in my own version of this practice. That is, I select one of the moments, and one of the photos, and I send them to some people who are very dear to me. I offer them as a “hope you saw/experienced/felt/knew….” reflection/wish for their day. This is the last thing I do before I shut off my phone and leave it in the kitchen overnight. I’ve done this now for years, and it has a deeply centering and connecting function in my life now.
How about you?
What practice(s) do you follow (or at least dabble in) that help you concentrate, notice the small gifts of daily live, etc.? And, how do those practices contribute to your well-being (and maybe even the work you put out into the world)?
P.S. You still have time to get 30% off of Teaching and Mentoring Writers in the Sciences! Just use the code UCPNEW. This is a labor of love I co-wrote with Stephen Heard to help folks in the sciences connect with the 50+ years’ of research on how to effectively teach writing. It comes out from University of Chicago Press on November 18th!
[1] DON’T worry—this is not a recommendation to start one!
[2] Turns out haiku is a form of longer poem using the “stereotypical” 5-7-5 line stanzas multiple times to create a longer poem. I didn’t know that until I read a tiny book on the history of haiku, written in the 1970s or thereabouts.
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