A Blissful State Called Flow

A Blissful State Called Flow

By Miriam Yoo

 

MIRIAM YOO REPRESENTS ACTORS, WRITERS, DIRECTORS, PRODUCERS, AND EXECUTIVES IN THE FILM, TV AND DIGITAL MEDIA INDUSTRIES. WHEN SHE'S NOT IN THE OFFICE, MIRIAM SERVES AS A MENTOR TO STUDENTS AT THE FULFILLMENT FUND AND ENJOYS DRINKING WINE, DANCING AND SPENDING TIME WITH HER HUSBAND RYAN AND THEIR TWO DOGS, AVON BARKSDALE AND HARVEY MILKBONE, IN LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA.

 

I was twenty-five years old and far away from home when I discovered the existence of art. Art had never even crossed my mind unless you count the framed Mona Lisa print my parents hung in our living room. I spent far too much time while growing up in Oklahoma dying for my Korean family to assimilate and as a result, I missed out on some important things, like art. The more I thought about art, the more I realized I was never going to be an artist. For a while I blamed it on the fact that my parents prevented me from being left-handed (or as they would say, wrong-handed!). But the real reason, I eventually found, was that I didn’t have any passion. I had somehow managed to maneuver through my entire life without purpose, intent, or a single original thought, just listing things on my resume with my right hand.

 

So I set out to find myself and, with any luck, I would find there was more to me than my first generation baggage. Meditation helped. So did a stack of self-help books and a little weed. I started writing again and taught myself some hip hop dance moves. I reread Jane Eyre and thought about how fucked up love can be. I imagined, created and played like it was my job and even the mundane started to become magical. Over time, I learned that when I allowed myself to do something I liked – anything I liked – and did it with intention, I became aligned with something divine and got lost in a blissful state called flow. I made a habit of going into the flow as often as possible and eventually, I became a happier person with a fire in my belly. 

 

That fire gave me the confidence to trust my creative instincts. The truth is, we are all creative and we are all meant to be creative. Creativity requires doing, but with passion and vulnerability. It involves being who you are without judgment, taking chances, and letting your light shine bright. My light must have been broken because it led me to a career as an attorney. But, while it’s nowhere close to backup dancing for Beyoncé, structure gets me excited. So does working with intelligent people. I consider my work an artful endeavor and on good days I get lost in the flow. On bad days I go home, lean into a bottle of rosé and take pictures of my dogs, which my husband says are really good. Don’t worry, I still don’t think I’m an artist but don’t tell it to my heart.//