Concentrate was a spooky game we used to play at sleepovers.
The object was scare your friends by predicting their deaths. You begin by telling the person to close their eyes. Then you stand behind them, reciting gruesome chants and performing scary rituals while pounding lightly on their back with your fists.
At the end when they open their eyes, whatever color they saw represented how they would die.
Red meant stabbing, purple meant suffocation, blue meant drowning, and so on.
It sounds morbid, but in my mind, this game was wildly fascinating. Not only because of my childhood obsession with horror movies and monsters, but also because the only rule was, concentrate. And concentration was one of those skills that came easy to me.
Whatever the opposite of attention deficit disorder was, that was my diagnosis. And during the eighties when every kid was hopped up on whatever stimulant their pediatrician prescribed them for what seemed like over diagnosed fad, my ability to concentrate made me feel special, proud, healthy and creative.
The best part is, my family and teachers never viewed it as a condition to medicate, but a gift to channel.
That has served me well in every area of my life.
The ability to concentrate until everything becomes invisible but thoughts you think, that can take you to the stars.
LET ME ASK YA THIS…
Where does your proficiency or difficulty in holding focus over time come from?
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That Guy with the Nametag
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