time-flow
Flow is the mental state of operation in which a person performing an activity is fully immersed in a feeling of energized focus, full involvement, and enjoyment in the process of the activity. In essence, flow is characterized by complete absorption in what one does.
“Time, flowing like a river
Time, beckoning me
Who knows when we shall meet again, if ever?
But time keeps flowing like a river into the sea”
The Alan Parsons Project – Time
Whenever I think of flow, this song comes to mind. It evokes two vivid memories.
In the first, I was leaving the business world to go back to school to pursue the great unknown (as in really I didn’t have a clue what I was going to do.) I had some cash, a bit of time, a newer car and had talked myself into driving cross-country by myself on the back roads. As someone who is pathetically challenged navigationally this was a leap of faith. At that time there were no GPS or cell phones. I had no set agenda, nowhere I had to be, and no one I needed to answer to. I was scared shitless, but to be brutally honest, more afraid of NOT making the journey now that I had mentally committed.
I kept a journal as a means of acknowledging and remembering. There was a point in my adventure that the content and tone of the journal shifted. It may have been around South Dakota. My writing became less factual and more lyrical. I began to savor the beauty around me, a vast field of sunflowers, a mountain goat in Glacier National Park, the hypnotic hum of the tires on the road, the fact that in North Dakota I did not see another car or person for 200 miles, the amazing number of coffee houses in Washington State.
My flow moment happened off the Pacific Coast Highway in California. I passed beach after beach until I decided, why not stop and take a breather. I walked down to this beach of black stones. I was a “party of one” with this magical place where the sea gave the sand a big wet sloppy kiss. I sat on a rock, while the sun warmed by body; the salt tickled my nose and the sound….ahhhhhhhhh the sound! Who knew the sound of water over stone could rival any composition I have ever experienced.
I was not simply hearing, I was LISTENING, with mind, body and soul. I was absorbed in the sounds, and overcome by how far I had come. The journey was a stretch both emotionally and relationally. All that mattered was right here right now. I was doing nothing, yet experiencing everything. When I opened my eyes, the sun was setting. I felt aglow, deeply connected, and sublime, as if my heart was simultaneously wide open, exposed and full.
My second extended flow period came as I unearthed the courage to engage, speak, listen and often just “be” wholeheartedly my little bro, as he was dying from stage 4 in-operable cancer. Growing up, John and I were siblings AND friends. Even when we disagreed we “got” each other. I saw him as fearless, living a full-throttle life. He was a benefit-finder even in the most preposterous situations. As example, one late night after consuming waaaaayyyyy too many beers, he drove his vintage mustang off the road, into a historic barn. He tried to back out and noticed the back of the car was on fire. He jumped out of the car, ran to safety as the car exploded and the barn burned to the ground. His statement to me was “Man, duddette, I’m so lucky the car exploded because if the cops had searched it, they would have found my cocaine.”
Unfortunately, my little bro’s, speed slowed as he became an unemployable statistic in an economy destined to tank. His unconscious decision to avoid the pain of the moment, lead to a vicious cycle of drinking, smoking, depression, drinking. It broke my heart to witness his slippage into a hopeless dark abyss. In an effort to maintain my own loose grip on sanity, I set limits with him. As a life long rule bender, he did the only thing he could think to hurt me back. We didn’t speak for several years.
The call came 4 years ago. “Shit duddette, I’m fuckin’ dyin.” His long time love, Eva, had taken him to the hospital after months of pain, coughing up blood and considerable swelling in his neck. He did not have health insurance. Stage four in-operable lung cancer with metastases to his neck. “The doc says I have 6 months.” I made a conscious choice to approach pain, and spend as much time as possible with him during the last year of his life. I was in flow when we talked about his fear of dying, his regrets, frustration over not leaving the legacy he desired, not loving enough, holding grudges, not fully appreciating life until he was dying. We laughed over fond memories, cried over time apart, we planned his wedding and attempted to strategize his death. The hospice staff told John and Eva that when the cancer affected his brain, death was imminent. “Please, duddette, tell me when you think its getting close.”
I tenderly, honestly, held and honored his pain, his struggle. In a situation undeniably beyond my control, I offered what seemed most needed, listening, acknowledging, connection, love, truth telling, silence, laughter, tears. During this time, my husband and I were in the process of moving to South Carolina. John was excited that I would be living closer to him. We planned for him to come and stay with me when we found a house. I called to let him know we bought a place and to begin to pack his bags for a visit. He sounded confused, his speech a word salad. The day after we moved in, he was dead (The song Time was playing on Pandora moments before I got the call.) I learned later, from Eva, that after John and my phone conversation about the new house, he told Eva “Yeah, I talked to Laurie and she said she is getting a horse. Kinda weird at her age, but she always did like horses, I guess that’s cool.”
In both of these experiences of flow, time stood still. I was fully engaged in the moment, aware of a presence larger and more powerful than myself. I approached even though I was afraid. I trusted my 105-year-old self. I recognized that I was at my finest AND struggling. The world and all its beauty, pain, love, hurt was vivid, bright, they were some of the most ALIVE moments of my life. I have more pastel versions of flow often in therapy sessions. I say things, from a place of wisdom I didn’t realize I had, problems, stressors and worries become nonexistent. I am wholly engaged, wonderfully, horribly human, comfortable in my skin, at peace yet still striving. Who knows, maybe someday, I will get a horse…..that would be cool.