I’m in the zone.
It’s a common line. A cliched line. One that’s been parodied to great effect.
We use this statement because we’re deeply familiar with it. We know what it’s like to be keyed in. We recognize just how special that feeling can be.
When everything clicks, time slows down. Distractions fade away. And productivity soars.
Psychologists call this sensation a flow state. And the rhythm it brings can be addictive.
We want it. We need it.
So, we chase flow down doggedly. And once we capture it, we try to hold onto it for as long as we can.
But all too often, this process is more fraught than roping the wind.
For more than six years, I’ve had a familiar routine.
Each week, I’ll draft and publish an article here on Words of the West. This has happened without fail.
There are plenty of other activities I’ve taken part in regularly during that time. Cooking. Running. Going to work.
But I’ve taken a weeklong vacation from work before. I’ve gone a week where I exclusively eaten out. I’ve even spent a week without hitting the pavement in my running shoes.
In a world where routines are so often broken, writing for this forum has been my only constant.
Maintaining this pattern of weekly articles has come with challenges. Finding topics hasn’t always been easy. The right words to share have often proved elusive.
But the biggest challenge has been harnessing a flow state when I write.
Sometimes, I’ll catch lightning in a bottle and draft an article in a single sitting. But generally, my writing process is a multi-day slog.
This article itself is a great example of this struggle. I’d planned on writing about flow states months ago. But despite my best efforts, I found myself lacking any sense of rhythm each week. So, I kept pushing the article back.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. Here I was trying to write about flow. And yet, flow was nowhere to be found.
This bothered me.
After all, how would anyone take me seriously if I couldn’t practice what I preached? I felt like a charlatan, an imposter.
But maybe, I was looking at this situation all wrong.
Each day, we battle against two opposing forces.
One demands excellence out of us. And the other demands consistency from us.
We can attain either one of these feats. But generally, we can’t manage both.
For we are not machines or robots. We are humans with flaws and imperfections. And so, our performance is bound to vary.
The question then, is which demand to prioritize — the standard or the schedule. Do we wait for inspiration to find us, and save our working moments for when we’re in a flow state? Or do we show up day after day, knowing that what we contribute might not always be up to par?
The choice is often made for us. We have bills to pay and mouths to feed. And our capitalist society frowns on absenteeism. Add it all up, and we’re obliged to keep showing up, for better or for worse.
But strangely, this setup also feeds our obsession with flow. For the idea of a flow state seems to bridge the gap between these forces. It seems to offer us high performance, and deliver it daily.
If only it were that easy.
In the early 2000s, a young golf phenom grabbed headlines around the world.
The phenom was named Tiger Woods. And his achievements were truly noteworthy.
Woods won 10 major golf championships before his 30th birthday, often in dominant fashion. Nothing seemed to faze him. He made an immensely challenging sport look easy.
Prognosticators kept trying to find the key to Woods’ dominance. Was it his ability on tee shots? Was it his iron game? His putting? Maybe it was his weightlifting regimen or his diet.
Ultimately, pundits did find the secret ingredient — Woods’ focus. In a sport where even the best athletes get rattled, Woods never seemed to. He was able to tune out the distractions and zero in on the task at hand, tournament after tournament.
Yes, Woods was a master at finding a flow state and harnessing it for the long haul. It seemed nothing would stop him.
Then, his father tragically passed away.
Woods took some time away from the PGA Tour to grieve. But when he returned for the U.S. Open, he didn’t look right. His flow state was broken, his focus was shoddy, and his golf shots were wayward. He didn’t qualify for the last two rounds of the tournament.
This wasn’t the end of the line for Woods. He went on to win five more major championships and scores of PGA Tour events. But the spell had been broken, and the utter dominance of his early career was gone.
It turns out that Woods was human after all. But those flaws and imperfections only made him more endearing to fans. And his willingness to keep showing up — even when he wasn’t on top of his game — became a cornerstone of his legacy.
Flow states? They were hardly the entire story.
I am not like Tiger Woods.
I’m not a groundbreaking athlete with awards and trophies to my name. I’m simply a modest writer who’s looking to connect with his audience.
And yet, I often find myself mimicking early-career Tiger when I write. I catch myself attempting to summon flow states at will and to tune out everything that makes me human. This ploy invariably fails, leaving me bitter and frustrated. And my writing suffers as well.
Maybe it’s time that I emulate late-career Tiger. Maybe it’s time that I value the ability to keep showing up, even when I’m not at my best. Maybe it’s time that I give grit a fair shake.
Such a shift in focus won’t take the shine off any moments of excellence I might still encounter. But they could help me appreciate those moments more.
And that balance of perseverance and commitment — that’s the only zone we need to be in.