Play

When you repeatedly come across a certain phrase, or two people tell you a strikingly similar story, you know you're supposed to be listening for meaning. Really listening.

This week, I read David Elkind's wonderful new book, The Power of Play. A must read for every parent and teacher. Simultaneously, I picked up a copy of Susan K. Perry's, Writing in Flow. In the first chapters of each of these well-written books, the authors summarize the years of work done by philosopher-psychologist, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi.

Mihaly researched the special union of work, play, and love. When these things collide, and feelings of enjoyment-- not bound by time, or self-consciousness, or fear of failure--run high, a person is said to be in flow. It's an abstract concept to be sure. Unless you've experienced it.

In a loose sense, we've all written about being in flow this week. Lisa chooses not to reveal the intricacies of her work-in-progress, because she feels the essence of her work, and play, and love might lose something in translation. Amy's post explored the notion that ultimately the process of writing should be enough. If we free ourselves from the distractions of finding an agent, a publisher, and interpreting the whims of the marketplace--perhaps then we can be in flow. And once in flow, I would argue, you will probably create your best work, and those trappings of the literary life will fall right into place. Hannah shared her thoughts about actors as artists. The role models she described embody the notion of working in flow. Have you seen, The Queen?

Last night my husband, and biggest supporter, and I talked about balancing my promotional activities for my non-fiction book, with my compelling desire to keep working on the revisions to my novel. He's concerned that I might be working too much. I am. Yet when I'm drawn into the world of my fictional characters, there is where work, and play, and love collide. Deep in revisions, I'm working hard on what Chekov calls the "little particulars." This week, in a trance-like state, I added in the details of my protagonist's daughter's bedroom. I'm "word painting," playing with descriptions of a bedspread, a window seat, and a doll's house. The time flew by, and when I finished, I was more refreshed than if I took a bath, a long walk, or a nap.

My favorite quote by psychologist Jean Piaget was aimed at children. He said, for children, work is play and play is work. In flow, I am a child. One who never wants to grow up.

How do you balance the longing for being in flow, with the practical details of daily living?