Focus(Reposted)

I have been thinking about writing here for quite some time now, but there has not been a strong enough motivator to do so. I am constantly pre-occupied in the world around me, do not have a chance to reflect. Today, something changed and helped me understand myself better.
Growing up, people always told me to look at life, and learn from it. My grandfather's life story has shown me how he has learned from every obstacle thrown his way. So, I have tried to learn from life's good and bad. Learning from your experiences surely makes you wiser, but learning from other's experiences makes you smarter. Which is why, I have tried to listen to people's stories, understand other's lives and learn from them as much as I can. Along the way, perhaps I have been given a chance to help someone out, and seized it. Learning from experiences, and the situations life throw at you helps with two things. It stops you from repeating a mistake more than once, and it gives you a different perspective on life's sorrows.
So as a follow up to the previous paragraph, I was going to list a group of sorrows in my life, that I have learned from, only to realize I don't remember any particular sorrow. I think that is proof enough, that this method could truly work.
Today, however I lost sight of my own way of life. I have been wrapped up with something for a while now, and that situation has exhausted my entire way of thinking. I felt exhausted of learning, absolutely out of focus.
It was then, that I remembered my grandfather's favorite poem. As i read through it word for word, I felt a lift of pressure. It brought me back into a more conformed self, and it was the much needed slap on my face to help me refocus.
I share with you the following poem, written by the late writer Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, called the Psalm of Life:

TELL me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream ! —
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real ! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal ;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way ;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle !
Be a hero in the strife !

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant !
Let the dead Past bury its dead !
Act,— act in the living Present !
Heart within, and God o'erhead !

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time ;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate ;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.

I hope you enjoy this poem. I will perhaps paraphrase my depiction of this poem in one of my future blogs.