At the time I was extremely ill with Lyme disease and the amazing parental units had encouraged me to try an art class. So, there I sat listening to Billy Ray give me hope. If working with clay could get me in the flow, perhaps I'd find a window where I could forget the debilitating pain and fatigue. Clay became more important to me than Vicodin. It was the only time I felt a glimmer of *me* still alive and well. During my Lyme time I lost a lot of my abilities that I had previously taken for granted -- reading, following conversations and movie plots, walking to the mail box--and many times it felt like I had also lost myself. Clay brought me back to me.
MC suggests that to really achieve flow you need to have mastered a creative pursuit, i.e. at least 10 years of practice. I was brand new to clay when I started but it transported me in many of the ways that MC describes as flow. Why? This is not a self-proclaimed prodigy confessional; far from it. Last weekend I stumbled across a TED.com podcast featuring MC which had me re-pondering this query. MC mentions in this talk that the nervous system processes a maximum of about 110 bits per second. When you are listening to a speaker, that takes about 60 bits. This explains why we can't hear more than 2 people talking at once -- our brains just can't process that much, that fast. However, MC has a theory that when in flow, the brain is using most of the 110 bits to focus on the creative task at hand. Hence, the person loses track of time, sometimes reports feeling disconnected from his or her body, doesn't notice hunger or pain, etc.
Hearing this a light bulb went off. When I was sick I am pretty sure my brain wasn't able to process anywhere close to that norm of 110 bits. So here's my theory: when I had Lyme I could only process let's say 50 bits per second. Therefore, the threshold for reaching flow was actually lower. I didn't have to be a master potter to be transported by flow!
My encounter with Lyme created a deep respect for art as therapy. I met wonderful people via ceramics and became intrigued by how many of them originally came to art because of an emotional or physical loss. They came seeking to re-build themselves and stayed for the joy of creating -- for the flow. It scares me how the arts are cut from schools because they are seen as optional. Can the fields of science and psychology provide data to support the recuperative powers of creative engagement? Can healing be quantified?
Csikszentmihalyi, Mihaly. Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience. New York: Harper Collins, 1990.
