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The power of focus — Part 2

Cougars, like all cats, fo­cus in­tently on their prey.

Some people find it easy to in­tensely fo­cus but, for a lot of us it re­quires some thought and plan­ning to achieve this state. My ba­sics to set the stage are time, place, and short breaks.

Time : A reg­u­lar sched­ule will al­low your body and brain to be­come ac­cus­tomed to the routine and settle in more easily.

Everyone has their own time of the day or night when they are at peak fo­cus. This is when you ex­per­i­ence your sharpest think­ing and cre­at­ive en­ergy. For me, it’s early morn­ing be­fore any­thing else clut­ters up my mind.

Place: This is the space where you keep your tools – pen and pa­per, com­puter, paint­brush, whatever. Going to your cre­at­ive spot at reg­u­lar times lets your cre­at­ive side know it’s time to wake up.

Ideally, this is a quiet place where you’ll be un­dis­turbed. If si­lence is im­possible, ear plugs or noise-can­cel­ling head­phones can shut out or re­duce sounds.

Distractions are the en­emy of fo­cus. It’s best to shut off or not re­spond to com­puter and cell phone no­ti­fic­a­tions while work­ing. Talking also dis­rupts the cre­at­ive cir­cuit, as it uses a dif­fer­ent part of the brain.

Although some people think they’re great at mul­ti­task­ing, re­search shows that, on av­er­age, it takes ap­prox­im­ately 25 minutes to re­gain fo­cus after an interruption.

Breaks: Just like our bod­ies need a break from sit­ting or stand­ing, the brain needs peri­od­ic time-outs to op­er­ate at max­im­um ca­pa­city. Ten to fif­teen minutes of activ­it­ies that re­quire little thought, such as fold­ing laun­dry, weed­ing, or stretch­ing, give your brain a rest.

Going out­side, be­ing in nature, and walk­ing are es­pe­cially help­ful. When I told chiro­pract­or, Alicia Steele, that I fre­quently find solu­tions to writ­ing prob­lems while walk­ing, she ex­plained that the bi­lat­er­al move­ment of arms and legs pro­motes activ­ity in both sides of the brain.

Taking a break and do­ing some­thing re­l­at­ively mind­less can en­hance fo­cus and cre­ativ­ity, but the key is to not think about the pro­ject you’re work­ing on.

While re­search­ing The Cougar, Beautiful, Wild and Dangerous, I was amazed at the big cat’s in­tense con­cen­tra­tion. When mov­ing in on prey, they nev­er shift their gaze away from it, even when circ­ling around or chan­ging position.

They’re totally fo­cused. Just like the man I saw jump­ing from a stand­still up six feet onto a con­crete ledge. (See The power of fo­cus – Part 1)

 

References:

“Want to be more cre­at­ive? Let your Mind Wander,” Sian Beilock, Psychology Today. 

“Keep the Focus on Your Long-term Vision,” Mayo Clinic.

How to Get Control of Your Time and Your Life by Alan Lakein.

 

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The power of focus — Part 1

A Great Blue Heron look­ing for fish.

It was a cold and blustery, yet thor­oughly splen­did fall day when I roun­ded a corner near the mar­ina and saw the man. He crouched slightly at the bot­tom of con­crete stairs, arms ex­ten­ded, el­bows bent and palms fa­cing each oth­er. The most un­usu­al thing was that he re­mained per­fectly still for at least two minutes. He re­minded me of a her­on wait­ing for a fish to spear.

He was at the entry­way of the path I wanted to take so I paused to fig­ure out what was go­ing on. Then, In one flu­id move­ment, he lowered his arms, raised them and jumped lightly onto the six foot con­crete ledge in front of him. The fact that the heels of his feet hung over the edge did noth­ing to hamper him from slowly and grace­fully stand­ing up.

I was awed by his strength and body con­trol. But even more so by his in­tense fo­cus. And he had good reas­on to fo­cus. If his jump had failed, he would have fallen back­wards onto the con­crete, per­haps break­ing his back, head or end­ing his life altogether.

Dumbfounded, I didn’t even see him re­turn to his start­ing po­s­i­tion. But there he was again, crouched at the bot­tom of the stairs with no dis­cern­able signs of movement.

He seemed ob­li­vi­ous to me or any­thing else but I wor­ried about dis­tract­ing him, so slowly con­tin­ued my walk with head tilted down­wards, peek­ing at him from un­der the brim of my hat as he ex­ecuted two more per­fect jumps.

By now, I was close enough to no­tice that he was speak­ing to someone, through Bluetooth ear buds after each jump. Was the per­son on the oth­er end coach­ing him? Or were they a safety link in case he fell?

Later, I wished I’d stopped to talk to him but there was no way I wanted to in­ter­rupt his con­cen­tra­tion. As a writer, I’ve been in a sim­il­ar state a few times — sur­fa­cing from a story to real­ize hours have passed in­stead of five minutes, or to dis­cov­er the faint sound I’d been hear­ing was really a repair­man pound­ing on the door, ir­rit­ated that I wasn’t let­ting him in when he could see me sit­ting at my desk.

Intense fo­cus is not easy to achieve. Especially these days with cell­phones and oth­er devices read­ily to hand. But it’s an art worth achieving.

Check out the up­com­ing November blog to read about cou­gars and fo­cus, as well as sci­en­tific­ally proven ways to gen­er­ate that state of mind.

Photo cred­it Joshua Goddard

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Light on the Serengeti

 

A few people have asked why I have a pic­ture of the Serengeti plains on the bio page of my website.

The an­swer is simple: this is my fa­vour­ite photo from a trip to Tanzania. In fact, I like it so much, I re­cently had it en­larged into an 18 x 36-inch can­vas wrap that now hangs in my house.

It was taken when our two sa­fari jeeps stopped lit­er­ally in the middle of nowhere, away from the kopjes where ex­tens­ive lion prides lolled and the life and death drama of wilde­beest and cro­codiles along the Mara River. I wasn’t the only per­son struck by the raw, open beauty; our little herd of thir­teen hu­mans was mostly si­lent, ex­cept for a few whispers.

Some people ask why I didn’t choose a pho­to­graph with an­im­als. Believe me, I have tons of pho­tos fea­tur­ing ele­phants, leo­pards, mon­keys and more. But, to me, the Serengeti im­age goes deep­er. It’s about the land and sky, the smell and feel of Africa, and the way the sun touches it all. It’s a place, once vis­ited, that is nev­er forgotten.

The im­mens­ity of this land­scape that can stretch be­yond hu­man sight vi­brates with a si­lence that is palp­able. Eyes scan the ho­ri­zon while ears feel wide open, hear­ing only the gentle rust­ing of golden grasses.

There was a sense of won­der and an­ti­cip­a­tion, know­ing that even though the land ap­peared bare of life, there was the pos­sib­il­ity that at any mo­ment, a lion, cheta, zebra or buf­falo could set paw or hoof in our viewscape.

Even though it’s hanging in the hall, I can see the Serengeti im­age from my bed. If I wake up at the right time, the sun shines in through a win­dow, high­light­ing only the sky por­tion of the pic­ture. It looks like the sun is rising in the Serengeti.

While the morn­ing light works its ma­gic, I of­ten con­sider the vast land­scape of my life – some be­hind me, some yet to come — and all the pos­sib­il­it­ies there are to explore.

As a writer, these of­ten re­volve around my cur­rent pro­ject. Will I fin­ish the chapter I’m work­ing on today? The en­tire book by the end of the year? Or will the story sud­denly fol­low a dif­fer­ent tan­gent, tak­ing me on a new journey?

The end­less po­ten­tial for com­bin­ing ideas and words is an as­pect of writ­ing that I’m par­tic­u­larly fond of. And now the Serengeti re­minds me of that every day.

Copyright on all pho­tos Paula Wild

 

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Have You Ever Heard A Whale Exhale?

I have, in fact, many times. And even though I was awed at each oc­cur­rence, none made me smile quite the way this new pic­ture book does.

The rol­lick­ing and lushly il­lus­trated tale leads read­ers on an amus­ing jour­ney into the quirky won­ders of the sea, sky and stars. Sea lions stir up a stink, seagulls shriek and wary sea anemones clench their tentacles tightly.

The clev­er rhymes are the work of Caroline Woodward, au­thor of nu­mer­ous fic­tion and non­fic­tion books for chil­dren, teens and adults. For this story, Woodward draws on her af­fin­ity for nature, es­pe­cially the thir­teen years she spent as a light­house keep­er on the West Coast of Vancouver Island.

Claire Watson’s blend of vi­brant col­or and vivid, fun-filled scenes cre­ate en­chant­ing im­ages. The artist, il­lus­trat­or and graph­ic de­sign­er has spent most of her life on the west coast and her know­ledge and pas­sion for the land, sea, and creatures that in­hab­it these spaces is on full display.

Readers of all ages will chuckle at the antics por­trayed in this light-hearted story. A per­fect read be­fore – or after — a beach or woods out­ing  and even on a rainy day while stuck inside.

For dates and times of read­ings and events vis­it: https://​www​.car​oline​wood​ward​.ca/​n​e​w​s​_​e​v​e​n​t​s​.​htm

Images cour­tesy of Pownal Street Press.