For the past three years, I’ve had the joy of playing music with 13 extraordinary musicians in a band called Rabble—recently re-named by one of our fans as The Rabble Acoustic Orchestra.
And honestly? They nailed it.
We really are an orchestra.
Picture this
Picture this lineup: two guitars, mandolin, three ukuleles, harmonica, electric bass, violin, banjo, two flutes, a whistle, percussion, and a harp. Yes—a harp. And a shruti. (Follow the link to find out more) and some truly beautiful vocal harmonies.
Our music spans everything from 16th-century pieces to jazz, rock, American reels, and English folk songs. Calling our set list “eclectic” is an understatement.
We put on three or four performances a year, and we consistently fill the venue.
Music has been part of my life for a long time
I began my career as a musician, earned a minor degree in music from the University of Northern Colorado, and I’ve played with plenty of bands—and even a couple of orchestras.
But nothing compares to the experience of playing with this group.
These are not only talented musicians—they’re genuinely wonderful people.
We actually like each other. And you can feel that in our performances.
We rehearse on Thursday nights at our friend Karen Koch’s house. Karen plays flute, whistle, ukulele, and shruti (yes, all of them). Rehearsals can run two hours, and sometimes close to three when we’re preparing for a concert.
And then there’s dinner.
Glorious dinner.
Karen usually makes an amazing meal—sometimes even a full turkey dinner. Conversation and laughter come easily. It’s my favorite evening of the week.
But it’s not just the people (and yes, the great food and conversation).
It’s the music.
I can get completely lost in it. More than once I’ve glanced at my watch and realized an hour has passed without me noticing—because we’ve been working through a challenging piece or exploring a new arrangement.
That’s flow
Playing music isn’t the only place I experience flow. I also find it when I’m writing a book, delivering a talk, or facilitating a Creative Problem-Solving session.
When I’m in flow, I’m fully present. My mind is clear. I’m not overthinking what I’m doing—I’m simply doing it. And I’m loving it.
In the 1970s, psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi identified this remarkable state of mind. Flow is that experience where time seems to disappear, effort feels almost effortless, and you become completely immersed in what you’re doing. You’re not distracted. You’re not self-conscious. You’re simply in it.
Flow tends to happen when challenge and skill are in balance. If the challenge is too low, you get bored. If it’s too high, you feel anxious. But when the challenge stretches you just enough—when you’re fully engaged and working right at the edge of your abilities—you enter flow.
Athletes often describe flow as a moment when time seems to slow down. That may help explain some of the extraordinary performances we see from elite competitors.
But you don’t have to be an athlete—or a musician—or a writer—to experience flow.
I’m pretty sure my 95-year-old mother enters flow when she’s sewing a new quilt design or creating a pot holder. And I’ve watched my friend Doug Reid—who is an extraordinary chef—enter flow when he’s preparing a special meal.
Flow matters because it changes how we think.
When you’re in flow:
- Your attention is fully focused on the task
- Distractions fade into the background
- Feedback is immediate (“This works… this doesn’t… try again”)
- Motivation becomes intrinsic—you keep going because the work itself is rewarding
Flow doesn’t come from chaos.
Flow doesn’t come from pressure or panic.
Flow comes from clear structure paired with creative freedom.
And yes—flow can be addictive, because it feels so good.
So, if I’m going to be addicted to something, my preference would be flow.
Where do you flow?
