In first grade they read us "Goldilocks," and that’s how we learned the concept of “just right.” Later we learned it wasn’t a matter of comfort so much as it was a delicate balance, like a tightrope. Doctors learn that if they inject too much medication, someone dies. Soldiers learn that if they don’t throw the grenade at the right time, someone will die and someone won’t die.
And then there’s flow, the thing we live for. Apply too much pressure, too much stress, a person will be overwhelmed and eventually break. Apply too little pressure, keep the stimulation low and the person will become bored and depressed. But flow is the sweet middle, the point where a person feels that he/she is getting better, that there’s control and yet the challenge is rising and they’re rising alongside it. Flow isn’t just a psychology, it’s a way of life.
Those are the words I was thinking about as the streetcar went underground. But it’s a nice place, Embarcadero, full of so much beauty and so many people that you can forget who you are for a while. Or…support who you are. I don’t know.
Some people find flow and build their identities on it. They invest themselves primarily in one thing, they visualize that thing all the time and it becomes their passion. Other people find flow to escape from themselves, to become so immersed that they find a way to not think about who they are as much.
But looking back on it, going to and from Embarcadero and passing the Bay Bridge and the tech startups and the giant arrow every single day, I think…
Maybe I’ve been taking this a little too seriously. Writing, I mean. People and places aren’t beautiful because you write about them, you write about them because they’re beautiful.