Monday 22 November 2010

What is the zone?


I think I’ve written before about what I suppose it means to be ‘in the zone’. You usually hear it from sportsmen such as golfers, who are either grateful that God has taken time out to accompany them on a round and make sure all their putts drop, or have succeeded because they’ve been ‘in the zone’ (hereinafter ITZ). To me, it simply means that you’re focusing on (and presumably enjoying) something so much that you don’t notice the passage of time, you’re unaware of your own self, your identity, your surroundings, or anything other than whatever the activity demands.

Why write about it today? Because yesterday I did some wood carving and, after concentrating on trying to sketch the basic shapes of the eyes, beak and claws of an owl, I suddenly realised that four hours had passed and it was time to rejoin reality and remember who I was/am. During that time, the only thoughts in my head involved which gouge to use, how much I needed to slice away to get the angles right, how the pale wood revealed by the cuts contrasted with the darker (dirtier) wood I was cutting into and so on and so on. With most activities, even enjoyable ones, the mind now and then wanders away into thoughts of a job that needs doing, ideas for stories, daydreams, anticipations and memories. There seem to be different bits of the brain throwing their preoccupations or delights into the mix. But, these ITZ moments seem to tell all those other bits of brain to shut up, butt out and let whoever’s doing whatever it is get on with it.

People cleverer than I am would now segue into the nature of Zen, and I can see the attraction of training the mind to experience that sort of oneness as often as possible. But all I feel is curiosity. It’s the total loss of self-awareness that’s so surprising. If the gouge slips and I cut my hand or lop off the claw I’ve just started to shape, I’m suddenly me again and I remember that this is a pretty frequent occurrence during carving sessions. But I stop the bleeding, put on the elastoplast (or start trying to remake the claw), and, pretty soon, it’s just the wood and what’s happening to it that takes over again.

I assumed earlier that, while we're in these zones, it’s the pleasure we're feeling that makes them so special – but here’s a paradox. The focus is so intense that you don’t know you’re having a good time. The enjoyment is retrospective. You stop, notice that four hours (or whatever) have passed and then you feel the contentment.

Because writing is my job nowadays, most of my ITZ moments are connected with it. It almost never happens when I’m writing something commercial or non-fiction, but when I get into a novel, short story, flash fiction, it’s a familiar experience. It doesn’t happen so much during the research phase, but once the characters have started taking over, I’m so curious about them and their world that my own ceases to exist. The choice of words and the order in which I put them seems to be part of the fabric of whatever these people or creatures are doing and although, objectively, I know I’m the one who’s writing them, the ‘me’ isn’t there. I mean, how can I write of a scene near Aberdeen harbour in the days of sailing ships when I’m sitting here at the computer with a mobile phone in my pocket with more computing power than the Apollo mooncraft?

Don’t get me wrong – I’m absolutely not trumpeting my 'talent', I’m saying that these things happen and I’ve no idea how. Or why for that matter. It’s a type of controlled oblivion. I sneakily suspect that all these ITZ moments are so valuable because they give us the impression that we’re in control, we’re actually shaping experience and making sense of it. It’s a familiar delusion – you get it from carving wood, writing, painting, making music, playing golf, sailing and no doubt hundreds of other things with which I’m not familiar.

I only wish I could be aware of the pleasure it’s giving me as I’m doing it rather than only in the moments when I stop. There must be a moral there somewhere.

17 comments:

  1. I don't think of ITZ episodes as venues for controlling or shaping experience. Rather, I think of it as a release - from convention, from social/cultural mores, from the confines of learned behaviors. My ITZs allow me to embark on a voyage of discovery, albeit on a level that touches both the conscious and subconscious. And you are quite right about not 'feeling' pleasure, or much of anything at all, though surely pleasure must be an element because if I am interrupted, dragged out of my zone, I get surly and suffer withdrawal symptoms. For me, the Zone allows me to step out of the confines of everyday, narrow concerns and enter a time/space that has an everchanging Gestalt. My ITZ is the wormhole down which I plummet, emerging into alternate dimensions and realities. One could argue convincingly that my own perceptions will filter and impact that which I 'report' from my visit. In truth, I believe the Zone allows us to step past perception and the experiential arguments, to sidestep established pathways and explore hitherto hidden trails ... or simply bushwhack through a thick growth, removing clutter as we go. For me, creativity is freedom.

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  2. You articulate exactly what I mean, Diane, except that there's still a 'me' in the experiences for you. You write of 'discovery', which suggests the presence of someone consciously noting (in your words, perceiving) and evaluating experiences. I love the other paradox involving perception and sensation - the moment you perceive a sensation, you're no longer feeling it. You can't perceive and experience the effect of an event simultaneously. Yes, creativity is freedom - including freedom from the creating self.

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  3. Bill, it's like humour - too much, or even ANY analysis takes away from the experience. For me being ITZ is also about accessing the better, more improved me - and when I am too aware of "me" that flow is disrupted.

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  4. Writing, for me, sends me ITZ - regardless of the topic or genre. I have also been ITZ when driving, walking the beach, or working on needlework.

    I don't share your desire to feel the pleasure when I'm ITZ - I believe the absence of any conscious emotion during the process is precisely what generates the pleasure afterwards.

    Speaking for myself, I tend to overanalyze and think too much. My ITZ moments, which occur more and more frequently as I get older, are probably the reason for me being able to settle down--emotionally--and enjoy life more.

    By the way, nice owl, Bill. You didn't drip any blood on him, did you?

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  5. Oh and if you did drip blood on it (nice spot Linda) will it take wing and hunt down your enemies. Assuming a nice fella (he pushes fingers down the back of his throat)like you has any.

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  6. Spot on Michael (and thanks to you and Linda for the owl appreciation - WIP, definitely).

    Linda,I agree that it's the absence of emotion that leads to the eventual feeling of satisfaction, but I didn't mean to suggest that I want to realise I'm having a good time - if I did, it would be precisely the thing that would diminish it. I'm just intrigued by it.

    As for the blood baths - I don't think there's a single one of my carvings with which I haven't shared corpuscles at least once.

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  7. I need more of those moments. I love them. But I need more hours in a day to be able to have them, if that makes sense.

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  8. It does make sense Scary, and I realise that I'm lucky not to have to fit in with external work pressures imposed by other people.

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  9. Love the owl, Bill, and the description of being in the Zone. Perhaps such absolute absorption is akin to meditation in some ways.
    Everything else ceases to be, apart from the focus of our creativity which in turn allows us to enter a deeper oneness with whatever we're creating.

    For me, the pleasure is in returning to reality with a renewed sense of peace and achievement -or something like that. Thanks for making us think!

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  10. That's exactly it, Rosemary - meditation, oneness and the deep satisfaction of having experienced it. Writing and all the other ITZ things are obviously good for us.

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  11. Yes, it looks like you lucky people are regularly creating the conditions which are most likely to bring about that zone-state. Maybe the zone can be found where we are not looking, at the point where two states of mind collide, or overlap. One state is conscious and aware, the other is simply asleep, unconscious. In the 'gap' between them is the zone which borrows a fragment of each. Provided we let go sufficiently and trust enough, we are giving the zone a chance. Does this explain why I can be puzzling away at a cryptic crossword clue for ages before I lay my head on the pillow and, as soon as I switch off the light and am drifting towards sleep, the answer pops into my head?

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  12. Writing in any genre (with the exception of blog articles) puts me in the zone. It's not only an escape from problems and reality, it's pure pleasure and a lasting "high". Reading a good novel also ranks high on my ITZ chart and playing Wii golf although I'm lousy on the golf course. :)

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  13. I call it "grace" when I write because I never suspect myself to have a real talent ;) and about the ITZ moments, sometimes you can also feel them while you are through them, maybe it's a matter of sensibility or appreciation : you feel that the time doesn't run at the same speed in these cases ;)

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  14. Ron, I like the (seemingly impossible) idea of combining awareness and its absence to create that in-between state. You’re right, ITZs are different from all other mental states and deserve an area of their own. Now, how about wandering into your own ITZ place and writing another blog?

    Jean, I wonder whether it’s the ‘duty’ aspect of blogging that gets in the way of the relaxation needed for being ITZ. And you’re right about escaping and achieving a ‘high’ – this morning, with sleet falling outside and a blocked drain to contend with, the idea of writing a story about a beach party in Jamaica is very attractive. And we should play a round of golf together – if you really are ‘lousy’ we’d be evenly matched.

    Tiffany, if 'grace' means divine or other supernatural interventions, it's not part of the way I think. As for your writing, when you write in French, it has that elegant style that English can never quite attain. That’s a ‘real talent’. I still maintain, though that time disappears altogether when we’re ITZ.

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  15. Love the owl.

    In the zone sounds a lot like what Wayne Dyer describes in his meditation CD about going into the gap, there's a gap between two somethings where you experience extreme nothingness, not a presence of peace but a lack of any drive, emotion, plan, or creation, you're just there resting, enjoying.

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  16. That's it Marley, except that for me it's a step further. There's not even a 'you' to experience the 'nothingness' or to be 'resting' - there just is that nothingness, and the 'you' is part of it.

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