he says that creative “flow” of an artist, a scientist, any expert at any thing, with those ten thousand hours under their expertise belt… is translatable to the ordinary moments in any mundane life. of a factory worker. a sports enthusiast. of a fish filet-er. the trick is to be so absorbed by your activity (more than 100 bits of somethingamuhjig per 1 whateverabob) that your brain’s processing power is purely and fully employed by the workings of the thing you are doing/facing/making. your senses so fully zoned into the smell of that fish, the touch of its flesh, the angle of that cut, that there’s no more brain power left over for you to feel, to sense, yourself. your hunger; your meandering thoughts; all your discomforts and wants and lacks, physical and mental. undetected.
it is, apparently, individuals who achieve this level of focus on their work — focus to such a level that allows them to achieve the suspension experiencing existence itself — that consistently report to being truly, fully happy with their work. and thus, in their lives. blissful moments of self-forgetfulness. heaven-on-earth experiences, in five-minute intervals.
“happiness in ordinary moments where we lose ourselves in extraordinary ways”
there’s truth to this on more levels than just the sensory.
cause this, too, is “the freedom of self-forgetfulness,” isn’t it?
how tricky it is that life seems to bombard us, marketing for happiness, promising self-realization through methods of greater focus on ourselves — the inhumane magnification of your T-zone pores, all the better to tighten them to oblivion; the reflection of your worth as statistified in Followers and Likes on a profile all about the grand story of You — when apparently, the true key to happiness lies in moments of the very opposite activity of self-scrutiny.
God, would you help me to gaze so focusedly on you that I may learn this art of self-forgetfulness?
edit: 4/21/15 — hey hey podcast train: