What “The Last of Us” Theme Song Taught Me About Focus
I don't even watch The Last of Us, but every time I hear that haunting melody, I'm completely transported. It's mesmerizing in its simplicity, almost meditative. And yet, when I see my husband practicing, it's anything but simple.
His right hand strums and picks in rapid succession while the other slides up and down the neck, shaping chords. His brain is working overtime, remembering patterns, anticipating transitions, staying one beat ahead while keeping steady time. What sounds effortless is actually an exercise in coordination, focus, and patience.
When I close my eyes and listen, I'm struck by how different this piece is from the music I used to produce for live shows. Back then, we built everything toward a crescendo for the audience journey, the sound and lights colliding in one glorious, high-energy climax.
This music doesn't do that. It doesn't rush. It breathes.
It vibrates with quiet tension, catching its breath before climbing another flight of stairs. It's a study in restraint, in what happens when you let the moment unfold instead of forcing the big finale.
But what has really captured my attention is how this practice has changed him. When he plays, his focus narrows to the sound, the strings, the shape of each chord. The noise of work and daily stress falls away. His mind is fully tuned to the music.
And when he misses a note, he doesn't get frustrated. He listens, studies, and tries again. No irritation. No impatience. Just steady progress toward the sound he's chasing.
I recognize this. Writing does the same thing for me. Once I let go of the need for polished perfection, the words start to flow from somewhere deeper. The sentences arrive unpolished, but honest. I can always refine them later. Writing forces my brain to quiet the distractions and concentrate on one thing at a time. It's my version of a chord progression, a practice that requires presence.
We all need something that forces focus, something that pulls us into flow so we can return more clearly and calmly to the world around us.
He's still practicing. And I'm still listening.
From your biggest champion,
Nicole
