As I write this, I’m on a long plane ride—I’ve written many posts on planes and trains, and I actually find it much easier to write this way despite the shakiness of my laptop on these rides. It’s easy to write on planes and trains because there’s not much else to do. I don’t get the Internet option on planes because it limits my options.
That’s a good thing for focus. On planes, I can do one of a few things: read, watch a movie, sleep, or write—all good options, but limited. I tend to think about it for a minute, and then choose one to focus on for a while.
At home and work, however, our options are unlimited. And our brains seem to want to do it all. We tend to jump from one thing to another, endlessly, until the sweet release of sleep takes us from all of our choices.
Monks have long been people with limited options, intentionally. Like people who ride on planes (without buying Internet service)—they can read, write, pray, eat, clean, meditate (or commune with God, depending on their religion). All day, every day.
And usually, they have designated spots in the day for each of these. That makes pristine focus easy. What if we could develop the pristine focus of a monk? It’s not that they have superpowers—though this kind of training will ultimately develop your capacity to focus—but they have the structure and the limited options that lead to focus.
Now you cut off all other options. Ruthlessly. It’s just you and this one thing.
You’ll be tempted.
