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It can really help to get way out of flow to figure out when you’re in it

It can really help to get way out of flow to figure out when you’re in it

Flow, to me anyway, is like a drug–but a legal one. When I’m out of it, I’m not myself.

Have you ever traveled to a place and then come back home and truly appreciated–maybe for the first time–something about home?

For the past two weeks, I was way out of my regular rhythm. Sorting through decades of boxes at my mom’s house (she’s moving), delving into letters from old girlfriends, as well as long days of physical labor. Little writing, little time to myself, and little flow–at least the type of flow I like–the creative kind.

Yesterday was my first day back in the woods and walking with my dog.

I just felt it. It felt right.

My ideas were firing. It was like hitting a golf ball in the sweet spot, it just felt good and clear and pure and simple and right.

I had to get out to get back in. Now I appreciate it. Well, even more than before.

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