My mind is never quiet. Most of the time, it runs around in circles at warp speed.
On any given afternoon, I might look at my schedule, full of good intentions, start on an urgent but mundane project, get distracted by the sight of the skirt I took off last night and left on the floor next to my desk, watch four YouTube tutorials on how to sew a circle skirt, look at my calendar, oh my god I’m two hours behind, let me just go get a drink of water, end up doing a load of laundry and cleaning the kitchen and never getting back to my project until 10PM when the kids are in bed.
Sure, things get done, in the end. My clients are satisfied, my kids are fed and clothed, my music project moves forward.
I manage.
But it is a stressful way to live.
I’ve noticed that there are only four moments in life where I manage to quiet my brain for a few seconds:
Pushing myself really hard on my gym’s pulldown machine;
Diving to the bottom of a pint of Ben & Jerry’s brownie fudge swirl;
Teetering on the edge of an orgasm;
And doing creative work.
The first three are fleeting. At best a few dozen seconds. (I eat ice cream real fast.)
Only when I’m being creative do I lose all track of time and become one with whatever I’m making. I dive into the waves. I pour myself out on the page. I merge with the project and my mind is so frictionless and streamlined that it feels like rollerblading with angels on a perfectly smooth surface, fully decked out in a long sparkly fairy dress.
Hyperfocus mode is the best.
But it’s also the worst, because I tend to pour and pour and pour until I’m totally empty, and I’m left burnt out, with an exhausted, aching body.
Yes, it’s thrilling, but sometimes, on the days where I’m curled up in bed at 2pm because I don’t have the energy for anything else, I wonder if it’s really worth it.
I dread hyperfocus mode almost as much as I seek it. But up until now, it was the only way to shut up my brain for any length of time.
Until last June.
Last June, I played drums on stage in front of 600 people.
It was during my music school’s end of year showcase. (These aren’t your basic student showcases where you sit through hours of grimacing at other kids’ wrong notes just to see yours play for three minutes. This is a real concert, set in an iconic venue, with big ass lights, awesome sound and good performances.)
Before I went on, my drum teacher said to me: “You’re here. They’re here. The die is cast. Just enjoy yourself.”
And as soon as I started playing, I immediately fell into the zone. The song starts out a little mellow, then little by little the energy builds. After a while, I felt almost like I was flying.
The space behind these drums felt SO. GOOD.
I’ve been on stage before but when you’re singing at the front of the stage, there’s nothing but air between you and the crowd. I always feel very vulnerable, up there, like I need to steel myself so that the adrenaline that makes me shake so hard doesn’t also make me fall.
But behind that drum set? I felt so very protected. A queen in my castle, with toms and cymbals all around me like loyal guards. And all the adrenaline coursing through my body had one very specific output: pounding on my drums.
I don’t remember specifics from that performance, to be honest, but I can still feel the pure thrill.
The pure thrill of smashing the crash cymbal to meet the chorus.
The pure thrill of leading 600 people into waving their arms during the slow part in the middle.
The pure thrill of the toms lifting me back up to the bridge.
But I wasn’t dissociated from my body like when I’m creating. I was 100% in my body.
For the first time, I actually felt what it means to be “in the flow”. Fully present, yet fully absorbed.
When it was over, I got off the stage, still shaking from adrenaline, and I finally understood fully, viscerally, why people love to get on stage.
It’s pure joy. It’s escape from reality. It’s a mind that finally, for a few precious minutes, shuts up and lets me fly.
It’s awesome.
I think I finally found my ultimate antidote to ADHD.
I have a show in a few days. Let’s see if I can translate this drum experience into frontwoman energy.
I’ll keep you posted.