Funny, how you ask a question (or three) and "poof" the answers appear. The last posting included these queries:

1. How the heck do you pronounce Csikszentmihalyi?
2. Can the fields of science and psychology provide data to support the recuperative powers of creative engagement?
   
3. Can healing be quantified?

Since then, I've learned that the correct pronunciation is Check-sent-me-high and, speak of the devil, Csikszentmihalyi did a study in the 70's to determine the place of flow in everyday life. Previously I shared Csikszentmihalyi's definition of flow, which is,"the state in which people are so involved in an activity that nothing else seems to matter." At its core, flow is the moment of enjoying a task. This can be a deeply artistic and creative moment or as simple as enjoying doing the dishes. In the study, Csikszentmihalyi asked participants to record all of the "non-instrumental" tasks they did every day; small activities they enjoyed but were not under obligation to complete. Then, the big whammy:
Beginning {morning of target date},when you wake up and until 9 PM,we would like you to act in a normal way, doing all the things you have to do, but not doing anything that is "play"or "non-instrumental."
After only 48 hours, the study was halted because, "the general deterioration in mood was so advanced that prolonging the experiment would have been inadvisable." The study found that in only 48 hours participants began showing signs of clinical depression and anxiety disorders. We are hard-wired to require doses of enjoyment...of flow throughout our daily lives.

Research in Social & Administrative Pharmacy quotes 1.99 billion spent in the US alone in 2005 for anti-depressants. Why are art classes not prescribed? I'm by no means saying forget the pharmaceuticals; there is definitely a place and a time. However, this study suggests that we have more options for transforming our own experience. I take two things from this study:

1. Play fosters engagement and enjoyment and keeps us sane!
2. I cannot allow myself to prioritize the fun out of my work day. I am cheating myself and I become a less productive (much less cheerful) version of me.
   

In the corporate realm, many projects live or die based on ROI--proving a Return On Investment. I'm in training, for which it is very hard to pin down ROI. How do you prove that a class on customer service improved overall service provided? Or that the increase in productivity is a result of a seminar? Healing is another tricksy ROI. Did I get better from Lyme because of pharmaceuticals? Art? Juicing? All of the above? I can't prove a percentage of healing to attribute to flow, but the study above shows that flow is not a luxury. There are serious repurcussions if we ignore our need to play andI hope science and medicine continue ferreting out proof.

*Footnote: I found this study in reading Drive: The Surprising Truth About What Motivates Us. This book is amazing, inspiring, and daunting. You'll hear more soon!

Flow...The Book, People. Honestly!

I want to share some thoughts from Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi's book Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience; boy am I glad this is a blog not a podcast because no clue on pronunciation. MC (I really can't type his name repeatedly either) defines flow as "the state in which people are so involved in an activity that nothing else seems to matter" (4). I was introduced to this concept by a fabulous Texas potter, Billy Ray Mangum; he puts the fun in funky (see below).


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.