Over the last couple weeks, the book Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience (Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, 1990) has been popping up for me in a personal zeitgeist sort of way. First, two different friends on totally separate occasions referenced the text in casual conversation. And then, this past weekend, This American Life aired a radio piece in which one of my favorite essayists, David Rakoff, illustrates his intense love of crafting using the concepts set forth in the book. (The radio segment is the third of three in the episode; scroll to 46:55.)
Rakoff begins by explaining that when he’s involved in a craft project he experiences a “blissful absence of the self and a loss of time.” Apparently, this is “flow”—that state of mind in which the flow-ers (flowbees?) reach “a level of engagement that is completely unselfconscious, removes them from everyday worries, and alters their sense of time.” He notes that the feeling is very unlike writing (his job), during which he finds every excuse to get distracted (even though writing is another creative pursuit he enjoys).
This all sounded quite familiar to me… while it’s decidedly not something I experience when freelance writing, flow describes a sensation I’ve felt before: way back when I was an avid stamp collector. (Nerd alert!) From approximately 2nd through 4th grade, I was an obsessive philatelist, in large part because of the deep level of single-minded concentration I experienced during the hobbying—a feeling I have rarely experienced since, in fact. To my surprise, when I recently revisited my old stamp books, I instantly returned to the same state of total absorption… it was as if my stamps and I had never exited that happy, focused tunnel.
Rakoff’s central question is whether it’s possible to experience flow in your *job*. (He thinks he might want to work at the craftganza that is Martha Stewart Living, but he’s concerned about losing his bliss.) He asks, “Does the act of doing something for money automatically rob you of that feeling?”
What do you think? Does changing a task you enjoy from “avocation to vocation” ruin any possibility of flow? Have you ever experienced on-the-job flow?
While I haven’t yet read Flow, three random references in two weeks would seem to suggest the universe is not so subtly suggesting I should at least crack it open. Either that or I’m supposed to take up collecting again. Mmmm, stamps…
That book comes up ALL the time for me, too. I’ve resisted reading it only because I’m trying to make a go at denting the shelves of unread books that I already own (per All Consuming, 294 and counting…). One day…
I read an article that explained you pronounce his name “Me-High Chicks-Sent-Me-High-Ee” which may never fail to make me smile.
If you read the book, you’ll find that Csikszentmihalyi reports that the guy who was most successful at keeping flow in his life did it on the job (and at home). And he reports how another guy used flow to make an otherwise boring job quite interesting.
It’s a fun read. I refer to it fairly often in my blog, and in fact have a section on it in Guide to Gourmet Shaving, since traditional shaving readily provides a flow experience.
I think flow is a bit more than just concentration. And as LeisureGuy said, MC’s book is all about flow at work (possibly influenced by his organizational psychology background).
Here’s a short article by the author if you don’t want to read the books:
http://psychologytoday.com/articles/pto-19970701-000042.html
Quote from the article: “Although adults tend to be less happy than average while working, and their motivation is considerably below normal, ESM studies find more occasions of flow on the job than in free time. ”
But it seems like the concept flow is both personal and vague enough that everyone seems to get something different out of the books.
One of the prereqs of a “flow” state, as I understand from reading the book, is engagement in an activity that meets your skill level and includes just the right level of reaching beyond those skills, to new ways of doing the thing or organzing it or what-have-you. In other words, if it’s too rote/easy and static in terms of skill/effort, eventually your mind wanders, you become aware of the environment, you’re restless, bored, self-conscious, underchallenged, agitated, etc. If it’s too difficult, ditto, plus you’re anxious, frightened, self-critical, etc. I imagine one way to make a repeatedly rote task more engaging (that requires more of you) is to create games or goals for yourself within it; I believe the examples in FLOW of the people who experienced FLOW at work were folks who did just that. As for not hitting FLOW in one’s chosen creative, monetized endeavor, I suspect many of us are perfectionists, who might push our consecutive efforts beyond the “next-level” FLOW-optimum comfort-zone: hence, no FLOW, or very little. Certain kinds of competition, status, identification, and time requirements might also induce or tempt us to abandon the mindset of skillful playing and into the minefield of achieving noticeable brilliance right this minute with this piece. Conversely, I think there also moments when we aren’t pushing ourselves that wee bit more — relying on old formulas or stale expectations from the money source — and that’s FLOW-killing if you don’t mix it up for yourself. Wish I could have written this more concisely or clearly, but I think it makes sense, no?
A of all:)”I was an obsessive philatelist” is a great tagline.
B: That feeling of complete immersion in a task is elusive for me because as soon as I become conscious that it’s happening or even that I wish it would happen it pretty much goes away.
I do think that it’s most common for me in creative pursuits that involve attending to a lot of small details over an extended period of time — it seems that modern life, with all its devices for constantly snapping me out of my reveries, makes it pretty difficult to stay in that state for long unless I deliberately turn off the phone and step away from the internet. I’ve also noticed that it’s a little harder to achieve when the task I’m engaged in means something — like a paycheck. I’m much more inclined to try to “push” for results in such cases.
It still happens when I’m playing music sometimes, but often not until the second or third hour of practice. It’s one argument for having a practice regime — it seems like it’s easier for creativity to sneak up on me after I’ve given myself a chance to relax with some fairly simple, repetitive tasks.
A certain sense of ritual really helps.
The early times I’ve really felt flow was when I was weaving (or more recently, knitting). I used to sell the inkle bands I wove, but I’d be hard put to make a living at it. More recently, I’ve felt flow when working with clients in a therapy session. THAT is encouraging!
To take this in a kind of meta tangent…
Any opinions on why the “flow” state is described as an absence of self and a loss of time? If the sense of self and sense of time is all on your head, why is the flow state the “wrong” one and the normal state the “right” one?
Laurel: I think if one were to look at the brain as, say, a Honda Civic, the “normal” state would be like city driving (lots of stopping and starting and sudden changes in direction) and “flow” would be more like freeway driving. And we all know that we get better mileage driving on the freeway.
flamingbanjo: I get what is being described as flow. So why is the state of mind described by not-flow or city driving normal and the state of mind described by flow or highway driving normal?
Oh, and if you have a hybrid civic you get better mileage in the city. So maybe that’s another question — how do we know our brains aren’t hybrids?
I think you may have left out a “not” in there somewhere, but if I understand correctly, what I meant by my analogy (Oh, and I wasn’t thinking of a hybrid –I have a used car and always have, so it will be several years before I’ll have a hybrid if I maintain this pattern) is that I think our normal state of mind is somewhat distracted, our attention diffuse. I think the deeper states of relaxation involved in “flow” or in things like meditation or yoga are, paradoxically enough, harder to achieve. Relaxation is not the path of least resistance for our conscious minds, for whatever reason. It seems to require effort. Or intention, at least.
I lose myself in painting, but getting started painting can be painful.. I feel guilty about disappearing into that unreachable state..that time-warp. It’s the ‘puritan..”not worthwhile spent time ” voice in me. I used to get sort of told off for losing myself in reading.. my main means of escape from the family when I was a child!
I am now building in painting time, by doing a course that stimulates me to work (assignments, but very loose.. ), and it is giving me so much energy. It is making me “better’ in the rest of my life .. much more positive than I have been for a long time. but as for making “flow” stuff your ‘job’, I wonder. My brother, a guitarist, advised ‘never make your hobby your job’. When he taught guitar to make money, he got incredibly bad tempered doing it.
“Myers Briggs” personality stuff about one’s ’shadow side’ is interesting on this. It’s all about where you get your energy from. You can use your skills and personality to do satisfying stuff in your work life, but you are still going to need to do something that exercises your shadow side, for “flow” and as i see it for your psycho-spiritual health.