When a painting was beginning to get interesting they could not tear themselves away
from it; they forgot hunger, social obligations, time, and fatigue so that they could keep
moving it along. But this fascination lasted only as long as a picture remained unfinished;
once it stopped changing and growing, the artist usually leaned it against a wall and
turned his or her attention to the next blank canvas.
It seemed clear that what was so enthralling about painting was not the anticipation of a
beautiful picture, but the process of painting itself. At first this seemed strange, because
psychological theories usually assume that we are motivated either by the need to
eliminate an unpleasant condition like hunger or fear, or by the expectation of some
future reward such as money, status, or prestige. The idea that a person could work
around the clock for days on end, for no better reason than to keep on working,
lacked credibility. But if one stops to reflect, this behavior is not as unusual as it may
seem at first. Artists are not the only ones who spend time and effort on an activity that
has few rewards outside itself. In fact, everyone devotes large chunks of time doing
things that are inexplicable unless we assume that the doing is enjoyed for its own sake.
Children spend much of their lives playing. Adults also play games like poker or chess,
participate in sports, grow gardens, learn to play the guitar, read novels, go to parties,
walk through woods--and do thousands of other things--for no good reason except
that the activities are fun.
Of course, there is always the possibility that one will also get rich and famous by doing
these things. The artist may get a lucky break and sell her canvas to a museum. The
guitarist may learn to play so well that someone will offer him a recording contract. We
may justify doing sports to stay healthy, aand go to parties because of possible business
contacts or sexual adventures. External goals are often present in the background, but
they are seldom the main reason why we engage in such activities. The main reason for
playing the guitear is that it is enjoyable, and so is talking with people at a party. Not
everyone likes to play the guitar or go to parties, but those who spend time on them
usually do so because the quality of experience while invovled in these activities is
intrinsically rewarding. In short, some things are just fun to do.
This conclusion, however, does not get us very far. The obvious question is, Why are
these things fun? Strangely enough, when we try to answer that question, it turns out
that contrary to what one would have expected, the enormous variety of enjoyable
activities share some common characteristics. If a tennis player is asked how it feels
when a game is going well, she will describe a state of mind that is very similar to the
description a chess player will give of a good tournament. So will be a description of
how it feels to be absorbed in painting, or playing a difficulat piece of music. Watching
a good play or reading a stimulating book also seems to produce the same mental state.
I called it "flow," because this was a metaphor several respondents gave for how it felt
when their experience was most enjoyable--it was like being carried away by a current,
everything moving smoothly without effort.
Contrary to expectation, "flow" usually happens not during relaxing moments of leisure
and entertainment, but rather when we are actively involved in a difficult enterprise, in a
task that stretches our mental and physical abilities. Any activity can do it. Working on
a challenging job, riding the crest of a tremendous wave, and teaching one's child the
letters of the alphabet are the kinds of experiences that focus our whole being in a
harmonious rush of energy, and lift us out of the anxieties and boredom that
characterize so much of everyday life.
It turns out that when challenges are high and personal skills are used to the utmost, we
experience this rare state of consciousness. The first symptom of flow is a narrowing of
attention on a clearly defined goal. We feel involved, concentrated, absorbed. We
know what must be done, and we get immediate feedback as to how well we are
doing. The tennis player knows after each shot whether the ball actually went where
she wanted it to go; the pianist knows after each stroke of the keyboard whether the
notes sound like they should. Even a usually boring job, once the challenges are
brought into balance with the person's skills and the goals are clarified, can begin to be
exciting and involving.
The depth of concentration required by the fine balance of challenges and skills
precludes worrying about temporarily irrelevant issues. We forget ourselves and
become lost in the activity. If the rock-climber were to worry about his job or his love
life as he is hanging by his fingertips over the void, he would soon fall. The musician
would hit a wrong note, the chess player would lose the game.
The well-matched use of skills provides a sense of control over our actions, yet
because we are too busy to think of ourselves, it does not matter whether we are in
control or not, whether we are winning or losing. Often we feel a sense of
transcendence, as if the boundaries of the self had been expanded. The sailor feels at
one with the wind, the boat, and the sea; the singer feels amysterious sense of universal
harmony. In those moments the awareness of time disappears, and hours seem to flash
by without our noticing.
