I notice that I have been talking a lot about “flow” recently. In the sense of ‘being in flow’ or ‘dropping into flow’. It is one of those concepts where I know exactly what I mean by it, but sometimes people look slightly blank when I use the expression. So this is what it means to me…
Imagine a river. A wide meandering river, but early in its life where the downstream incline is still quite steep. It is a rocky river, turbulent in places. Maybe there are whirlpools. Maybe there are rapids and white water. What there definitely is, in this river, is a central stream that flows sure and true. It curves around the rocks. It meanders itself within the main body of the river, sweeping in tighter and wider arcs from bank to bank at times, and at other times simply holding a central line. It is a calm sweeping onwards in the midst of everything else. That smooth sweep of water is flow.
Now. Imagine that you are standing on the bank of this river. Looking at the water and thinking about what and where you need and want to go. You may simply want to cross to the other side, to the bank directly opposite your current standpoint. You may want to head up-stream, to retrace your steps, correct errors, or just to revisit opportunities taken or missed. You may want to head downstream, to move forward. You may want to go up-stream and over, or over and down-stream.
What we want to do in life is not always what we need to do. Ultimately, we all need to go down-stream… that is the nature of life, the river flows down to the lake or the ocean, life flows from birth to death.
It should be becoming clear that if our aim is to simply cross the river, or to go upstream, we will struggle. This is not to say that the struggle won’t be necessary or worthwhile, merely to say that it will not be easy. We all have these times in our lives. Massive major upheaval times, but also everyday moments when the bus is late or someone has changed a plan that throws our own intentions into disarray. Struggle is a big word, but it also applies to the little things.
We drop into flow when what we want to do, coincides with what we need to do. It is when our intention, our delight, our aim, meet the workings of the river. We hit that central stream and are carried along by it, gently. We avoid the rocks and the rapids. We move forward. Then we are gently deposited back on the riverbank – on the same side or the other side doesn’t matter, we have moved forward and the view has changed and we can rest and regroup, and think about our next foray out into the river.
Flow for me is when what we want, what we need, what the world needs of us, and the circumstances of the moment all meld into an expanded moment of experience. We don’t think when we are in flow. We just do. Or sometimes we don’t even do, we just are.
It’s probably worth mentioning that flow for one person would be the rocks and the rapids and the whirlpools for another. For me the image is smooth gentle streaming fluid motion…but that doesn’t stop it being applicable to my rock hero stomping about on stage. My late partner’s definition of flow would involve a mic’d up bass drum, traditionally-held sticks, VERY loud music, and a deep connection with the bass-guitarist. Mine might be watching the gannets feeding at evening in the Irish sea or walking along the northern coast of Scotland with the seals crying below.
From my own experience I would argue that we have many ways of dropping into flow. Sometimes they exist in tandem. Equally they may change over our lifetime. I am in flow when the words are flowing. I am in flow at that point of a walk where I have settled into my stride and the brain slips into neutral, trusting the path to be obvious enough for a while – somewhere between mile 3 and mile 5 usually. I am in flow when engaged in an interesting conversation. I am in flow when I sit in silence with someone I love. I am in flow when a smile speaks volumes.
Flow is an expanded moment, a deep moment, but not necessarily a chronologically long moment. It can be a second or two. I have shared a joke with my dear ones that involved nothing more than a crinkling of the eyes and the knowledge that we were having the exact same delightful thought.
We need to determine for ourselves where we find our flow, because at the mundane level it is where we nourish our mental well-being. If we do not do ‘the flow thing’ whatever is, we will be off-kilter, we will be unhappy, we may be depressed. If we find it and step into it regularly we will be centred, we will be happy (even if for situational reasons we may be sad, a different beast entirely), we will be well.
So, the question asks itself, where will I find my ‘flow’? How will I know?
The second question is irrelevant. Trust me, you will know. You will know that you haven’t thought about the rubbish stuff for a while. You will know by that spark of joy or the deep minutes, hours, whatever, of bliss. You will know because it is simply obvious: there are no questions when you are in flow. Everything just is.
We have a saying about certain things to the effect that if you have to ask the question, you won’t understand the answer. I believe that relates to flow. If you have to ask why people surf, or free-climb, or storm-chase, or give up glittering careers to raise kids, or chuck in the corporate world to write poetry that will never sell…if you have to ask why poker, why bicycles, why ballroom dancing…why birdwatching…why quilting… if you have to ask, you truly will not understand the answer. The answer is simply: flow. Just some of the places people find it.
So how do we find ours? By looking. By playing. By following our instincts. We find our flow by trying out lots of things that appeal – without expectation, without purpose – and without even questioning what the appeal is. We find out by being curious. Experimenting. Having fun. And by quite specifically not having fun. A part of finding flow, sorry but it’s true, involves a few forays into the white water and the rapids. It usually involves get crashed against a few rocks or washed up on the stagnant beach on the wrong side of the river. That’s ok. That’s good. That’s knowledge. That’s just something that’s not for me.
When my sis-in-law’s Arab stallion bit me…confirmation: my flow won’t be found anywhere near stables and large animals. When an unsuspecting Finn was persuaded to lead me into a formal dance (and in Finland you are obliged to stay for a second!)…confirmation: ballroom dancing is not my thing. I could go on but will spare you the more gruesome learnings.
Along the way, I have learned some of the ways I can access it, but I’m still experimenting. Talking to a new friend about watching them ‘drop into flow’ and how beautiful it was to see – because it is – being in flow is amazing, but it can be equally joyous to watch someone else in theirs – the response was: you can do this too. I don’t yet know if I can, but I’m edging my way in and beginning to think…yeah…maybe. Certainly early experiences are preferable to being bitten by a horse!
If you have found your access to flow – in these times give yourself permission to drop into it at every available opportunity. If you haven’t yet, or if previous doorways no longer get you there, start playing and experimenting. Do stuff just for the heck of it and see what happens. You will know when you find it.
And it matters to all of us that you do.
