My front porch is surrounded by forest behind and beside me, with ancient mountains before me. Now that spring has arrived in full glory, there's a cacophony of bird song each morning. The Merlin bird app, which I love, helps me identify these winged voices that fill the air around me.
This morning, I found myself trying so hard to hear one bird, I missed several others. Realizing this, I relaxed my eyes and ears so I could take in the beauty of all the bird song at once. I was overwhelmed by the bounty surrounding me. Black and White Warbler, Worm-Eating Warbler, Northern Cardinal, Tufted Titmouse, Brown Thrasher, Indigo Bunting, Bluebird, Carolina Wren, Blue Jay, American Crow, Blue-Gray Gnatcatcher, Wood Thrush, Ovenbird, Eastern Towhee, and more!
The forest is alive with voices I would have missed in my narrow pursuit of the single voice.
The Mountains before me and the Forest surrounding me. © 2025 Carla Royal.
The Tunnel Vision Trap
When we think of focus, we often default to tunnel vision—that narrowing that excludes everything but the target. So much of our culture celebrates this kind of laser focus. There's a time for this kind of seeing, but not as often as we believe.
I see my clients sometimes get so focused on a particular way of doing things that they become trapped, unable to pivot when necessary. They dig in, throwing more energy, focus, and money toward something that isn't working. They think it should work—in fact, it has in the past—but it no longer does. Now, they're locked in. Possibilities narrow. Creativity withers. The very tunnel vision that once drove their success becomes the thing that imprisons them.
This tunnel vision isn't just affecting individuals. Look at our politics, where we've reduced complex issues to simplistic talking points, or religious institutions clinging to rigid interpretations rather than embracing mystery. We're unable to see the complexity or the wider field of possibility.
But isn't laser focus necessary for achievement? In some contexts, yes. The problem isn't focus itself, but our inability to shift between focused and expanded awareness when appropriate. Like any tool, tunnel vision serves us until we forget it's just one way of seeing.
One of my clients became extremely successful using strategies that worked brilliantly for years. When things started falling apart, he couldn't figure out why. He got stressed and doubled down on what had worked before.
In our work together, I introduced the idea of living in the questions as expressed by Rilke. Though he was skeptical, he committed to not making any firm decisions for six months. As he opened his vision to the wider field, new ideas began to drop in. Rather than jumping on them as was his tendency before, he left them scattered to see which might take root.
After six months of living in the questions, it became clear to him that he had to go in a completely different direction with his business. Now, everyone who encounters what he's doing says it's brilliant and commends his courage in doing something no one has ever done in his industry.
This is what a relaxed, wide view can allow.
What Animals Remember That We've Forgotten
I think of the animals on the African savannah, grazing with relaxed awareness. They know the predators are in the bush. They aren't hiding. They aren't trembling. They are grazing.
They maintain relaxed bodies, eyes, and ears, taking in the entire field around them. They aren't in denial about the dangers. They trust the wisdom within their bodies. They trust they'll engage immediately if a predator leaps from the bush.
What I find most remarkable is how quickly they return to relaxed grazing after the chase. They shake off the adrenaline and continue grazing within minutes.
We don't shake it off.
These unresolved experiences live in our bodies, generating painful stories about why the danger came for us, what we did wrong, what they did wrong, and when we'll be threatened again. We tend to live in this state, locked in hyper vigilance, unable to return to rest. We've forgotten how to trust our bodies' natural wisdom to respond as needed.
Learning to Trust Again
My little dog-friend, Lucy, came to me after two years of trauma. Her eyes bulged from her head for months after she arrived. She lived in a hypervigilant state 24/7. She even had nightmares that continued for over a year.
Lucy Pecan. 7.5 lbs of canine goodness! © 2025 Carla Royal.
As we've connected more deeply and as she races through this forest day after day, feeling her little animal body again, she’s relaxing. The nightmares have vanished. The bulging eyes are rare. She still has moments of overreaction, but they are less and less as she experiences safe connection.
As she runs through these woods, her whole being shifts. Her eyes soften. She's no longer locked in that frantic scanning for the next threat. She takes in the whole forest now.
Our bodies work the same way. When we drop out of our racing minds and back into our bodies, something opens up. Our vision literally expands. We see more. The narrowed focus that once helped us survive gives way to a wider awareness that lets us truly live.
That's why safe connection matters so much. Stephen Porges' polyvagal theory shows us that our nervous systems attune to one another, constantly scanning for safety or danger. Similarly, research from interpersonal neurobiology reveals that our brains are literally wired to regulate with others. We can't regulate in complete isolation. That's not how we're created. We are social creatures.
I know how difficult this shift can be. We live in a world that celebrates the individual hustlers and grinders. We're bombarded with information from every direction. Our nervous systems are constantly on alert. The idea of relaxing our focus can feel terrifying when we've been conditioned to believe that constant vigilance is the only way to survive.
The Wisdom of Seeing Differently
I've found that relaxed, open focus gives me a greater sense of connection to myself, to others, and to the world around me. What I'm exploring in my own life, and what I invite my clients to explore, is finding the edge between focus and freedom. Not an undisciplined letting go, but a relaxed awareness that can respond to what's actually emerging rather than what we expect to find.
Try this: When you next feel stuck, take three deep breaths while softening your gaze to take in the periphery. Notice what's been just outside your attention. Or during a difficult conversation, relax your throat and belly while listening, creating space for what's being said beneath the words. With practice, these micro-practices can begin to shift your habitual patterns of attention.
It's about cultivating a presence that allows for both responsiveness and rest, like the animals on the savannah who can graze peacefully one moment and sprint for their lives the next.
The wonder is that this relaxed awareness often opens doors that remain closed to a narrow, intense focus. Our most meaningful insights come during periods of relaxed attention—when we're in the shower, taking a walk, or doing something unrelated to the problem at hand. The relaxed mind makes connections that the striving mind misses.
The Freedom of Relaxed Awareness
The world we're navigating is complex and constantly changing. The old maps no longer serve us. Our default is often to grip tighter to what we know. But what if the wisdom we need now isn't about seeing more clearly in the usual sense but about seeing with a softer gaze that takes in the whole rather than just the parts?
When I sit on my porch and listen to the birds, I'm practicing a different way of knowing. I'm remembering what it feels like to be part of something larger than my own striving mind. I'm reclaiming a birthright that belongs to all of us—the freedom to simply be while still moving with what life asks of us.
The next time you find yourself locked in tunnel vision, try relaxing your focus. Not abandoning it, but softening it. See what comes into view when you stop straining to see.
Listen for the symphony when you stop trying to isolate a single note. There might be wisdom waiting at the edge of your attention—wisdom you'll miss entirely if you remain too focused on what you think you're looking for.
Like Lucy shaking off her trauma and beginning to trust again, we can reclaim our capacity for relaxed awareness. We can remember how to move between focus and freedom, between action and rest. We can relearn what those animals on the savannah never forgot: that our bodies know how to be both alert and at ease, that we belong to each other, and that sometimes the wisest response is simply to graze in peace, trusting that we'll know what to do when the moment calls.