A Restoration of Focus
I have often thought that the greatest luxury afforded to any man is not a collection of fine things, but the simple possession of a quiet hour. In the course of my daily duties, I am surrounded by the noise of modern progress, the persistent hum of machinery and the endless demands for an immediate answer. It is quite easy, I find, to lose the thread of one’s own thoughts in such a clatter.
There was a time, perhaps more settled than our own, when a gentleman was expected to spend some portion of his day in silent reflection. It was not considered idleness, it was considered essential maintenance for the soul. One sat by a window, observed the play of light upon the trees and allowed the mind to settle like dust after a carriage has passed.
One finds that the most difficult problems, the ones that keep us pacing the floorboards seldom yield to force. They require a certain gentleness, a willingness to wait until the solution chooses to show itself. It is much like watching a bird in the garden; if you rush toward it, it takes flight. If you remain perfectly still, it may just land on the table beside you.
I find it a great pity that we have traded this stillness for a world that insists on being constantly "connected." We are reachable at all hours, yet we are rarely truly present. We have grown so used to the frantic pace that we feel a sense of guilt when we aren't "doing" something. And yet, it is precisely in those moments of doing nothing that our best ideas are born.
I have decided to make more room for these quiet intervals. Not because I have nothing better to do, but because I believe the work I do for others is only as good as the clarity I maintain within myself. After all, one cannot pour a steady glass from a shaking hand.