Welcome back to B is for Book Coach.
Today, we’re making space for a special guided 5 Minute Outline.
Flow state is a magical thing.
Time disappears. Creativity pours out of you. Problems get solved. Dreams take shape. Visions come to life. Reality warps and bends around you to make space for whatever the focus of that flow might be.
I have often complained that I can’t turn on that kind of focus on a whim, convinced that there’d be no stopping me if I could.
But the impulse to force or control flow isn’t really about flow at all.
Those desires, at least in myself and what I’ve seen in my clients, are connected to the outcome.
We want to jump through that time warp into a reality where we’ve hit some kind of productivity metric or have some kind of product in hand.
There’s nothing wrong with producing things, of course. Making something tangible out of the intangible is magic, by definition.
But there’s a difference between alchemy and sleight of hand—and a true flow state is never an illusion.
There is a not-so-small part of me that wishes I could finish this episode with a formula for you. That the 5 Minute Outline or some other tool had finally unlocked the doors to the Realm of Creativity, where all is flow and flow is all.
It’s the part of me that has struggled to write for the last few weeks, wondering where all my words have gone and quietly worrying that I’ve overcommitted and won’t be able to complete this project.
But the same part of me who wants time to disappear into free flowing creativity is the part who gave up time to force productivity.
That part that took no time away from the daily hustle to read or garden or knit, then wondered why I couldn’t come up with anything as good as the episodes about reading or gardening or knitting.
Creativity needs white space.
Think about the design of books you love to read: when there’s room in the margins, we are able to process all that we have taking in. Sometimes, not all the time, we are inspired to write in those margins. But that’s not their primary purpose.
The thing is, for as many times as I’ve told my authors to just walk away when they can’t find their words, I hadn’t realized how badly I needed to walk away—to create my own margins.
I stayed frustrated, scowling at a blinking cursor until finally telling my editing friends that I was giving up. No words were there to be found, so I was just going to knit for a while.
Half a row later, there was just one thing to type.
Another row or so, and maybe another thought.
Put the needles down, just one more thing…
I had given myself permission to just be in the moment.
Not trying to force a metaphor out of my stitches, just letting my brain rest for a moment in the muscle memory and sensations and rhythms of stitch after stitch after stitch.
We sometimes joke that our answers might be found in the knit-and-purl stitches, or on Netflix, or on a run, in the way one might say “These feelings taste like chocolate cake.” Mostly, we’re making light of our escapism.
Only, flow can be found in escape just as often as it can be found in focus.
The trick is, you can’t be looking for it.
Not because it isn’t findable, but because flow isn’t out there at all.
It’s only here.
When I was coaching my dear friend Will Keiper through his last book, The Power of Noticing, he asked me at one point whether I would change anything in this moment.
He looked genuinely hurt when I said, “Gawd, of course I would.”
It took another couple of calls before I fully unpacked what he meant—that right there in that moment, nothing existed but he and I and our beautiful conversation about his ideas.
Not mortgages or taxes. Not funnels or website glitches. Not sick kids or to-do lists. Not unwritten words or unpublished projects or unreached audiences. Not unrealized potential.
Those all existed somewhere else.
Will taught me that flow isn’t something you make. It already exists, always moving at its own speed, in its own time, like a channel within the ocean that we can slip in and out of and be carried beyond the current.
And the only way to find that channel is in the radical present.
See, flow doesn’t take us out of the present. It doesn’t make us unaware of our surroundings or reality. It IS the present. It IS reality.
It takes us out of our worries about the future and our regrets about the past.
It allows us to see and honor and celebrate the reality of creation rather than the anxieties of having created.
So, no. I don’t have a magical amulet to offer you that will make your book appear out of nothing.
I won’t be your source of accountability or structure to force you to create that book out of nothing.
But I can offer you an invitation into the radical present.
For the next five minutes, we aren’t going to write or type or try to find the hidden structure in the way I’m guiding you.
In fact, I would rather your hands find something to do than to try to force a still meditation out of this exercise.
Bring this alongside you with your breakfast. Or pick up a craft. Or go out to the garden. Or on a walk or a ride. Do some cleaning. Do some fixing. Spend this time drawing or puzzling or scanning your bookshelf for the next title you’ve been meaning to read—you can even talk directly to me if it helps you not try to write.
For the next 5 minutes, we’re going to make some margins.
Whether or not that space opens up into a channel of flow one day is none of our business this day.
There’s just me and you and this beautiful conversation about ideas.
What did you decide to do with this moment?
Can you take it in, like it’s the very first time you’re seeing it?
Move through all of your senses.
Isn’t it wild how we take in so many sights and sounds and smells and tastes and textures without ever noticing them?
Are there both pleasant and unpleasant sensations in this moment?
Notice the unpleasant, in particular. Can you see it through a lens of curious observation, rather than distant avoidance?
Why did you choose that activity?
I wonder if one of those sensations is what made you turn to this thing for our time here in the first place. I know I’ve gotten really particular about the yarn and needles I use because of how they feel in my hands.
Was it novelty or familiarity that brought you here?
Is there something novel in the familiar, or familiar in the newness?
You might be drifting now, thinking about all of the other things you might have chosen to do. Or wondering what if you are doing this “right.”
It’s okay.
But those are future things and past things.
Come back here, now, with whatever is in your hands.
Keep your senses awake, your focus just on this moment.
When did you last do this activity?
Activity might be a strong word for what you’re doing right now, but that’s okay—how long has it been since you last did this thing?
How long has it been since you last did this thing while fully present to it?
This might bring up some thoughts about what has kept you from this, or what has kept you from being present to it.
That’s okay
Notice those thoughts, but don’t hold onto them. Don’t judge them. Don’t nurture them or push them away.
The present has plenty of space for every thought, every feeling, every sensation.
How accessible can this kind of moment become?
There are some forms of presence that we put on a pedestal.
I crave time on the beach, but I live in a landlocked state.
So when I can’t have the rhythms of the tide, I fall into the rhythms of knitting.
If I can’t read by the ocean, I try to read facing my pond, or to open a window and listen to the rush of wind.
With all that you’re noticing about this moment—what parts of it mirror your ideal spaces?
If you’re in that ideal space, what can you take in so deeply that it comes back home with you into more accessible spaces later on?
What can you take with you right now?
As these particular margins come to a close, notice the strongest sensation that’s held you to this moment.
Which senses speak loudest to you?
Where have you been able to stay connected even when thoughts and feelings and fears and worries and busyness try to creep in?
Picture that sensation like a cable, an open connection attached to your awareness of the present. Imagine it reaching out, hoping to grab onto the channels of flow that already exist in and all around us.
There will be moments to pause and notice the quieter senses too. But when those moments are hard to find, this one will be easier to grab onto.
Take a few deep breaths, and hold onto that cable of awareness as I close out my time with you in these margins…
You are welcome to stay as long as you’d like.
—
It’s always jarring for the music to end.
The audio to stop.
The call to be over.
The connection to feel severed.
But the beautiful thing about the present is that it’s always there, waiting for us to tap in.
Just a few short months after our work on The Power of Noticing ended, my friend Will came to the end of his journey in this life.
And while a not-so-small part of me would love to go back to that moment with him on the call, that’s just the part of me who is still learning the lessons he taught me.
The gift of such radical presence is its own kind of magic.
And I’m so grateful that you’re here with me now, learning to receive that gift alongside me.
Thanks for creating this space with me today. Whether or not you’re ready to dive into writing just yet, remember that the best authors show up fully, just as they are. That’s all it takes—and you're already doing it.
Be sure to subscribe here on Substack or wherever you listen to podcasts to catch every coaching moment to come. And when more of your book is ready to emerge, the space we made today will be here waiting for you.
And so will I.
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