Flow is the antidote

Monday, Jul 13, 2026 | Adventure, Art, Big Thoughts, Coaching, Exercise, Family, Friends, Fun, Manifest, Peace, Source, Space, Spirit, Writing, Yoga | 0 comments

“Flow is an antidote to transactional reality.” – Dave Evans, on Hidden Brain with Shankar Vedantam 

(Note: This post qualifies as a “long read,” so take your time.)

I call myself a writer, but in practice, my medium is the simple state of flow.

Flow focuses on task, not outcome. Flow draws me into a sensory experience, a somatic experience that links mind and body and spirit seemingly effortlessly—how? In flow, I am wide open to the world around me, as if “I” were not bound by my edges, but a drop in an ocean.

Last week, I was mainlining episodes of Hidden Brain, the podcast by Shankar Vendantum that focuses on social science, psychology and communication. Recent episodes have been dovetailing with my interest in spiritual care. (I’m returning to school in September to start an MA in Theology, with a focus on Spiritual Care and Psychotherapy.) I’ve been jotting down notes, transcribing, and reflecting on the skills developed during thirty years, or more, of practicing the craft of writing, specifically creative writing, writing in pursuit of beauty, writing to illuminate some meaning that’s just out of reach, writing to sink into mystery.

“Flow is the experience of full and deep engagement, where time stands still.” – Dave Evans, again

From practice, I know—a simple flow state is ever-available, it is always here to step into, just waiting for me to arrive. Like a river, the flow runs alongside the distracted, anxious, needy experiences that riddle my life (aka being human!), and this river is here for me to swim in, drink from, dip my toe into, stare at, always available, so long as I am available, too.

I am not talking about heightened experiences of flow, about the “apex” flow experience. I am talking about simple flow. (Thanks for naming that distinction, Dave Evans.)

“Flow can occur when you’re operating in the flow channel. The flow channel [aka river?] is a place of experience where the task you are currently involved in and your skills to perform that task are in approximate balance. You’re neither over-talented, so you’re bored, nor under-talented, so you’re anxious and nervous you might fail. You’re right at the edge of your capability, which means this task is demanding your full attention.” – Dave Evans (and, here, he cited the work of Mihaly Csikszenmihalyi; see below)

I have been trying to find a name for a skill that seems to come easily, for me. I’ve called it, at times, “creating a welcoming space,” and it’s a skill that I’ve applied in different areas of my life, from running a workshop, to coaching soccer, to reading to kids, to hosting a party. Sometimes this skill gets called “leadership,” but that’s not quite accurate. It’s a directional skill that is also about ceding control. Essentially, I have become skilled, through practice, at ushering not just myself, but others, too, into simple flow moments. In these moments, we are in a flow channel—my river, their rivers, our river—and our collective capacity meets the collective task, so we neither feel anxious that we won’t be able to do the thing and also are engaged and present.

Basically, it’s directing attention toward a particular task that brings us in concert: into the same space, the same moment, so that we are part of a shared experience, which may be delightful, reflective, comforting, challenging, fun, but most importantly, is as spacious and as focused as possible.

“Each person allocates his or her limited attention either by focusing it intentionally like a beam of energy, or by diffusing it in desultory, random movements. The shape and content of life depend on how attention has been used.”  – from Flow, by Mihaly Csikszenmihalyi

In practice, “directing attention toward a particular task that brings us in concert” (I need a better phrase for this) requires a certain amount of design, while leaving space for the unknown. Elements that can be considered in advance include: the removal of barriers or friction, an understanding of constraints, and a clear articulation of the goal and the tasks that give structure to the process. That sounds super-vague, and maybe I should be inserting an example here, but the details and context really make a difference in appropriate design; I tend to boil my design down to the simplest and clearest options for communication purposes, with the fewest foreseeable barriers to participation. The limitations and practicality of my design become clarifying only when the experience is rolling. I can see what’s working, and what’s not. I can make changes as needed—though preferably not in a reactionary way; I have to be comfortable with discomfort—my own and others’. Afterward, I may suffer from doubt, need to debrief, and seek to learn from the experience and tweak my design; but in the moment, and this is pretty much no matter how the task is unrolling, I experience a spaciousness and calm that feels freeing.

I am fully inhabiting my self and I am not bound by my self.

I think others feel it too, at least some of the time. And I think that’s all that’s happening—I am in the flow, and others are there with me too.

I’ve begun reading “Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience,” by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, and I’m reflecting on the concepts of “differentiation” and “integration,” which on first glance appear oppositional. How can I be both unique and connected at once? (It’s a big Life question for me—how to be an artist, which requires ridiculous amounts of time and energy focused on the particularities of a craft, while also being an attentive and connected parent, partner, friend, daughter, sister, etc.).

To be confident within my expression of self while feeling connected across barriers and boundaries—in communion with other people, ideas, art, nature. That’s flow.

Being myself fully and being fully myself with others—this is kind of the ultimate joy in life, isn’t it?

“This simple truth—that the control of consciousness determines the quality of life—has been known for a long time; in fact, for as long as human records exist.” – from Flow, by Mihaly Csikszenmihalyi

You don’t have to make art to be in a flow state. What’s required is your attention. Attention is always possible, but not always available. Practice helps. Mindfulness is a starting point, meditation is good practice, but so is holding an infant and pairing your breath with theirs, so is sitting with a child who is sounding out letters on the page, so is getting up early to move your body, so is dancing, singing, walking with a friend and listening closely and learning to ask good questions, or watching the birds in your backyard till you feel like you know each one. The more you practice steering your attention toward what matters to you, the easier it becomes to inhabit liminality, to step from here to there, into the flow.

It’s so wonderful, it’s a wonderful state to inhabit, but there are so many distractions, our attention is constantly being pulled, and we only have so much to give.

How much control do we have over where our attention goes? 

“With consciousness, we can deliberately weigh what the senses tell us, and respond accordingly. … Power returns to the person when rewards are no longer relegated to outside forces…. The most important step in emancipating oneself from social controls is the ability to find rewards in the events of each moment. ” – from Flow, by Mihaly Csikszenmihalyi

Where are your inner resources? I used to say this to my kids when they were small, and bored, needy, fighting, rolling on the floor. How I wanted them to have inner resources to pull from—imagination, creativity, curiosity, resilience, playfulness of spirit. (And I think they did, and they do!) How I want that for everyone, actually, myself included. And it’s not always possible, and that’s hard sometimes. There are times when external events knock me to my knees, and my attention fades, my “psychic energy” is poured into attempting to solve the insoluble, I become confused by ugly emotions, by grief and loss and self-doubt and pain.

And then … I need reminders, I need well-worn paths that lead down to the river, or even just get me close enough to hear the water rushing past, to trust that it’s still there. I need to give myself over. Maybe it’s a kind word from a wise friend at the right moment. Often I find entry into the simple flow most easily through my body—breathing; walking; stretching; sweating at the gym. Get me out on my bicycle, and suddenly I am more alive, more open to what’s flowing.

My discipline is writing. My practice is flow.

xo, Carrie