How to Find Your Flow

Henrietta reads her blog post once more.

She changes a word here and there.

Corrects a typo.

And then strengthens her final two sentences.

It’s done.

And it feels good.

Oh, she thinks, if only writing could always be this way.

The feeling of being fully present and at ease in her skin. The quietness. The focus. The flow.

How come her inner critic falls asleep when she’s so focused?

And how can she get in a flow more often?

1. Find detachment and focus

Last year, I came across one of the best descriptions of flow I’ve ever read.

In her book Saltwater in the Blood, Easkey Britton, a big wave surfer, writes:

Those moments when we are most deeply immersed in our environments, through an embodied experience, are known as the “flow state”: the ability to hold two opposing views, that is to be detached from the outcome yet still single-mindedly focused on what needs to be done.

Detachment and focus.

Yes, I thought. That’s it. When I’m writing and get in a flow:

1. I stop doubting my work. I stop worrying how readers might react. I don’t think about shares and comments or ranking in Google. That’s detachment.

2. I focus on doing my best work, improving a draft step by step. I do think about you (that’s you, dear reader) and how my words may come across but only because I want to make this better. I’m intensely focused on the task in front of me.

Britton notes that getting in a flow creates a sense of belonging—she’s no longer questioning her place.

I recognize that.

When I’m in a flow, I feel an ease of being. I’m not fighting the words; I’m at one with the words. I’m patient, and I feel connected to myself, to you, to the world, to whatever idea I’m working on.

There is a quietude. My inner critic is at her best behavior, supporting me. It makes my work better, and writing becomes a joy.

2. Forget the competition

Being in a flow requires us to be focused on our own work.

Just do the best work you can.

As soon as we start worrying about measuring up, we lose our focus. In big wave surfing, such external pressures are lower. Here’s Britton again:

What drew me to big waves was the unboundedness of it all. Unlike competitive surfing, where the pressures were external, with big wave surfing the pressures were all internal. In a strange way, this felt kind of liberating – to have my ego exposed to the elements, my only judge being the wave I chose to ride. It felt as if I was conforming to nothing but the laws of physics, and experiencing the rawness of my being.

Especially when writing online—for social media, a blog, or a newsletter—the pressures can feel high. We all like to get a positive reaction. More opens, clicks, likes, shares, comments. It’s the exact opposite from big wave surfing.

After an absence of almost 5 years, I’ve recently started posting again on LinkedIn. (Shall we connect?) The marketer in me feels the need to make the work pay off. Is it worth investing time in social media? Will it gain me more email subscribers? And, of course, my ego is watching the number of impressions, likes, and comments for each post.

I try to acknowledge those pressures. I let the marketer in me set some boundaries, like deciding how often I’ll post and what topics I want to post about. Then I try to let go and give my inner artist the freedom to play and create.

There is an inner artist in all of us. When we let go of pressures and let our inner artists play, we can do our best work.

3. Lean into the fear

As writers, we’re fortunate. We’re not at risk of drowning.

Yet, interestingly, Britton considers the fears of not measuring up as bigger than the physical risks of big wave surfing:

For me, fear comes from the mind, not the heart. Fear is a call or a cry to listen to ourselves, to be here now. Fear is a great teacher; it’s taught me to be humble, to have trust in myself and a power far greater than me. I think big wave surfing more than most experiences really confronts me with my sense of identity – who I am, at least for those moments when I’m in the water. The greatest fear I faced out there, I’ve come to realize, was not the size of the waves but this feeling that I had to somehow measure up to the expectations of others, and the expectations I placed on myself as a result.

That fear of not being good enough, of being a disappointment, that’s what we face as writers, too.

And the antidote?

Lean into the fear.

Fears often gain in power when we try to fight or ignore them. But when we acknowledge our fears, they become more manageable.

Here’s what Britton writes:

That curiosity and desire to embrace the unknown, to go to the edge and lean into fear, is a powerful and important value of surfing. It’s the kind of fear that embraces vulnerability, the art of letting go. It’s about risk-taking, and being really honest with ourselves.

It’s the same with writing. I try to dance with my fears, and I can do that best when I tiptoe out of my comfort zone.

When I stay in my comfort zone, I go stale. When I venture too far outside, fear can become paralyzing. So, I dance in that zone in between. Enough challenge but not too much.

As Britton suggests, the sense of flow is “found at the edge of what’s familiar and what’s unknown.”

Trust yourself

When I started writing, it felt like I was wrestling with words and fighting with my inner critic all the time. I worried how a piece would turn out and what people’s reaction would be.

Over time, I learned that I can only try to do my best.

So, that’s what I do …

I focus on the task at hand whether that’s writing a crappy first draft, revising, or proofreading. I try to trust the writing process; somehow a crappy draft will turn into a finished piece, ready for publication.

I’ve mostly stopped questioning whether I’m good enough. I’ve stopped fighting my inner critic, and she’s become more supportive.

Yes, the marketer in me sets some of the rules. But mostly, I let my creative soul unfurl its wings.

It still feels like magic.

A sense of surprise that I’ve written this.

Thank you, my friend, for being here.