Reading this beautiful piece reminded me of something I never consciously thought about.
I always took for granted that the "flow" state is just for my deep work but yet, there are so many little things I do which brings me to the flow state.
Cleaning my house, cooking, walking, working out, gardening, writing, and reading are some of those activities.
And looking at Max’s pictures.
Csikszentmihalyi moved to the United States — and dedicated his life to the study of positive psychology, which might be described as the scientific exploration of what makes life worth living. The Hungarian American’s legendary work orbited questions of happiness, purpose and creativity. What are the conditions that help people thrive? What happens when our attention is fully aligned with our actions? What sort of life unfolds when effort becomes its own reward?
If Csikszentmihalyi’s work offers an official definition of flow, it is this: “A state in which people are so involved in an activity that nothing else seems to matter; the experience is so enjoyable that people will do it even at great cost, for the sheer sake of doing it.”
It’s the sort of line you start highlighting before you’ve finished reading it. I remember where I was when I read it: in a coffee shop in the East Village, sitting amongst glowing laptops and somniferous surf rock, sipping a beer before grabbing dinner with a friend.
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As freewheeling as flow feels, as mythical as it sometimes seems, the state does adhere to a qualifiable superstructure. Csikszentmihalyi spent decades studying people who regularly entered flow — from artists to surgeons and climbers to chess masters — and eventually identified nine “component states”: challenge-skills balance, action-awareness meaning, clear goals, unambiguous feedback, concentration on the task at hand, paradox of control, loss of self-consciousness, transformation of time, and autotelic experience.
That’s…a lot of words. What do they all mean?
Here’s a breakdown: In order to achieve flow, the performer must be well-matched to the activity at hand — not too expert, not too green. They should be challenged, not bored. Activated and engaged. The performer knows exactly what they’re trying to accomplish, including the many mini-steps along the way, and they have a clear sense of how they’re doing. But that’s about all they’re aware of. Time either slows to a crawl or flies by. Focus narrows to a pinpoint, shutting out would-be distractions. The performer forgets their ego (they neither consider nor care what they look like during flow), and abandons their needs (they don’t reach for snacks, or check the clock or wonder if they need a bathroom break). They simply float forward.
Once you’re in flow, it can feel bulletproof. As mental states go, it seems like a cheat code: temporary immunity to time, ego or distraction?! But reaching hyper-focus requires some entry-level focus. Unlocking flow is notoriously difficult; it demands a blend of creativity and curiosity, patience and practice. And the edge of flow is a tightrope. A phone notification, a self-conscious thought, one tiny shift in rhythm — they can all break your stride before you fully drop in.
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In other words: flow was a commodity, which could run dry without discipline. He chose to cherish it, to never take it for granted: “As flow became a primary activity in my life, I was eventually able to turn it into a method. No hard conjuring necessary. It’s almost on speed-dial at this point.”
Descriptions vary, but this is a common refrain amongst the artists and athletes who regularly enter flow. It’s hard to say they’re “finding flow” or “unlocking” it — either image suggests someone reaching out in the dark, fumbling with their keys. When you hone your attentional faculty day after day, year after year, flow is no yeti. It’s your next-door neighbor. Ying said as much: “I think that I expect to get to flow now. It’s not a rare or mysterious thing. For me, it’s the result of good preparation and willful focus.”
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In order to find true flow at work, though, the work has to matter to you. It has to feel meaningful, rooted in growth. You have to believe in it. And ideally, you’re already good at it — or at the very least, eager to get better. Whatever the task, there should be a clear sense of progression, and a sense that you’re fully present while doing it.
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