I guess I needn’t have worried about not wanting to run again after a marathon. Or even that I would love it any less.
The flow is still there, the abiding desire to fall out the front door sans cell phone, sure-footed, immersed in purpose and freedom. The familiar, faithful flow.
I’m making my way through Susan Cain’s masterful work, Quiet, and it sparked me how this concept is scientifically recognized, and actually termed exactly this: Flow.
It’s surreal to have my instinct about this validated. It makes sense. A state where we’re so immersed in what we’re doing that the real world becomes secondary. All things are equalized in this great distancing that happens when you tap into the flow. It resonated- I understand, in what feels like a primeval way, exactly what she discusses. Introvert, extrovert, ambivert, doesn’t matter- flow levels the playing field and channels through us immeasurable energy and focus. I got shivers straight down my spine.
You know that feeling when you come across something that captures, flawlessly, an experience you’ve had? It could be a photo, a line in a book, a stroll down a street, but it is somehow a snapshot of somewhere you’ve been before. Maybe you’re there now. Maybe you want desperately to get back there.
Finishing a big race doesn’t come without its own set of crises. What to do with my time now? What am I working toward next? Just like that, its feeling a bit lost, I’m adrift again. Maybe the drift isn’t so bad. Maybe the drift is its own sort of flow. Maybe its just that simple. Following that feeling of being totally part of something, completely immersed in whatever it is that draws your unquenchable energy and sense of deep-seated calm, all at the same time. Follow it to where it tingles, to where it ignites hidden stores of energy, of excitement, and then keep going.