Short Stop: Focus

L.C. Hill

The yoga lady on my iPad tells me to ground through my left foot and find my focus. Focus, she says today. Focus, balance, believe, reset, nurture. It’s been something different everyday. I look at the shelf on the wall in front of me. She says to take a deep, cleansing breath and focus.

My eyes land on the small, round ceramic vase where I placed the dried roses from a bouquet he had given me last summer. I never could bring myself to get rid of them.

Focus. I try to ground through my foot. Focus. My jaw tightens. Feel what you’re feeling, she says.

*

”Why can‘t I find a grownup like Grace’s husband?” I texted my best friend a few days before. The new season of Grace and Frankie had started. We love it. Some days, we are it.

“Because he’s not a real husband!” she emphatically answered. “I don’t trust him.”

“I keep wondering when they’re going to kill him off.”

“I kinda see you with a Barry.”

“Is that because I’m a bitch like Brianna?” I asked.

“No, I think you should be more like Brianna…channel her bitchy, empowering energy.”

I had never thought of it as a good thing.

*

Focus, the yoga lady says. Feel the burn, you can make it. You’re doing great.

I reach with both hands, fingers stretched like the yoga lady has been telling me to do for twenty-four straight days as I balance, believe, reset, nurture. I tug on the flowers until they finally come out of that vase I forced them into all those months ago. It drops to the shelf with a clank.

I crush them with my fingers and let them fall into the trash bin.

I return to the mat, ground through my foot, and take a deep, cleansing breath.

Focused as fuck.

Image credit: L.C Hill