If there were ever a biography written about my life, the title would not be heroic, poetic, or grand. It would be simple, honest, and slightly painful: “An Idiot Lost Focus.” Not because my life has been meaningless, but because, time and again, I have known what I should do and still allowed distractions, fear, comfort, and emotion to pull me away from my real purpose.
From childhood, I carried dreams like everyone else. I imagined becoming someone useful, respected, and fulfilled. I had the ability to work hard and the curiosity to learn. Yet, focus is a fragile thing. It does not disappear suddenly; it fades slowly. A small delay becomes a habit. A harmless excuse becomes a lifestyle. Before long, the road I carefully planned begins to blur, and I find myself walking in directions I never intended to go.
The word “idiot” in my title is not an insult to intelligence. It is a confession. It means knowing better and still doing worse. Many times, I understood the value of discipline, patience, and consistency. Still, I chose comfort over effort, emotion over reason, and reaction over reflection. I chased too many things at once and finished too few. Instead of mastering one path, I wandered through many, collecting experiences but losing momentum.
Life, however, is not only about mistakes. Losing focus also teaches humility. When plans fail, pride weakens. When dreams collapse, wisdom grows quietly. Every disappointment forces me to pause and ask, “What truly matters?” In those moments, I realize that success is not always about speed or brilliance, but about direction. A focused person with average talent often reaches further than a talented person with scattered attention.
Relationships, too, reflect lost focus. Sometimes I invested energy in the wrong people, wrong emotions, and wrong expectations. I mistook noise for meaning and affection for purpose. By the time I recognized the difference, time had already slipped through my fingers. Still, those moments shaped my understanding of loyalty, patience, and self-respect.
If my biography truly carried the title “An Idiot Lost Focus,” the final chapters would not be tragic. They would be honest and hopeful. Because awareness is the beginning of change. Once a person admits distraction, they can rediscover intention. Once a person accepts failure, they can rebuild with clarity.
Today, I no longer aim to be perfect. I aim to be present. Focus is not about doing everything; it is about doing the right thing consistently. My life story is not about falling — everyone falls. It is about learning where I stopped paying attention and choosing, finally, to look forward with purpose.
In the end, the “idiot” is not the one who fails, but the one who never learns. And my biography, despite its harsh title, would quietly whisper a better message: losing focus is human — finding it again is courage.
Saviour Shanthalal Hettiarachchi









