Focus, as I understand it, is another form of meditation.
You concentrate on something and lose connection of all that’s spinning around you. Which is a good thing.
My girlfriend just joined a group of women that color together. In books that resemble what our children used to use, but with headier visuals. I just gave one to a friend recovering from a knee operation. When you color you only think about which section to cover, which shade of red.
My husband makes Nantucket baskets. Not the little ones with a whale bone clasp that ladies take to lunch. No. He makes giant ones with leather handles that we throw all of our magazines in.
My girlfriend paints. My daughter knits. Our neighbor throws pots.
And while they’re doing these things, they focus. They’re not in the swirling world around them of children and groceries and dog fetishes.
They’re right there. With their coloring or knitting or writing. Smack dab in the center of who they are.