Forests. Trees. Are Those My Only Choices?
Changing focus can break barriers in what we see and learn
I’m always one to challenge the premise. Makes for interesting conversation, not to mention new chances to learn something. And I’m almost always out in the woods someplace taking pictures. Never met a tree I didn’t like.
But when back on the couch, in writing space, I’ve found one of the most powerful ways to challenge our default thinking is to experiment with our perspectives. Sometimes it’s a simple change of focus. Let’s start with the classic aphorism, implied by the title:
I couldn’t see the forest for the trees.
Obsessing on details can block our ability to see the big picture. We often use forest and trees together to talk about issues of focus. Less often, we might also use similar turns of phrase to introduce the notion of abstraction.
Classically, in literature and lore, the favored device for explaining abstract concepts is the metaphor. I’ll share my working definition here, leveraging insights of George Lakoff in his Metaphors we Live By (1980):
A metaphor compares abstract, hard-to-grasp concepts with something more concrete, visible from common experience
We often take metaphors for granted. The idea of forests and trees has significant possibilities. I love it when writing. It introduces a useful set of dichotomies:
- one vs. many
- tactics vs. strategies
- close vs. far
- concrete vs. abstract (the metaphorical tie)
- details vs. generalities (the abstraction tie)
When I’m out in the woods with my camera I have a field day, zooming in and zooming out, to see what might be seen .. or unseen. Only recently I came across this notion, paraphrasing Lao Tzu:
We gain wisdom and clarity not by adding, but by taking away.
The first job of a photographer is to choose what to focus on. For me, it’s like a treasure hunt. To find the best shot is to move past the underbrush and endless rows of tree trunks, unless somehow they serve to frame the subject and become part of the story. Our default is to see underbrush, and endless rows of trees. We need to consciously challenge those defaults to change our perspective. Only then do we spawn new possibilities.
Focus is the first job of the writer too. Among the 170,000 or so words in the English language, which words in which combination will make our point?
And what was our point, anyway?
So often we are consumed by an idea or turn of phrase and forget where we wanted to go.
That’s the key point in all this.
Choosing and sustaining focus is part of every meaningful journey. It’s a critical task not just of the photographer and the writer, but also of the thinker, the teacher, and the learner.
So often we fail to focus. Too often our ideas lack depth and they lack meaningful context. The problem may well described as a lack of critical thinking. Without it, we focus only on the mundane and the tactical, taking for granted or ignoring meanings and implications. That’s how we survive, to be sure. But it keeps us from bigger tasks.
Focus is the starting point for intention, and it can be applied in all aspects of our lives, any time we seek to act, to create, or to spark change.
Of course we reserve the right to change focus. The proverbial rabbit trail often leads to amazing things. But the decision must be conscious — intentional — with thought to our overall goals. The end game for me is to keep focus top of mind.
The choice of focus determines what we see, a frame for what we can create. It truly grounds and shapes our possibilities.
Look around. What can we achieve here? The present is a powerful time and place. There’s no better place to start.
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