I love it when my friends are snobby about things they are good at. One friend goes on at length about nail polish quality, another is incensed about thoughtless interior design. Even if I have no interest in the topic, their passion makes me care. And I know that when they’re engaged in whatever they are snobby about, they are in a flow state.
It’s exhausting to be steeped in uncertainty all the time. Maybe you’re scrambling to make better use of AI at work so you don’t get fired, or you’re reinventing yourself after a layoff. You might feel like a beginner in all parts of your life.
So today, I’m exploring how you might find relief by leaning into that thing you are really, really good at.
The Exhaustion of Constant Novelty
When you’re under stress, learning is much harder. You might be spending all of your cognitive effort to refine your resume or get up to speed on new software. Or you’re starting a venture and tweaking your identity to go along with it. Your brain is working overtime on problems that feel urgent, but you don’t even know what outcome you’re aiming for.
Overload can fragment your attention span. Suddenly you have 30 browser tabs open and instead of tackling the next learning task, you grab your phone and scroll TikTok for half an hour. Or you go eat chips (salt and vinegar, for me, thanks).
Those distractions mean that your brain is asking you for rest, but it doesn’t know what kind it needs. What’s more helpful is the type of rest that isn’t sleep or zoning out, and definitely isn’t more scrolling.
What Mastery Actually Feels Like
Think about something you’re good at. Not just good, but a little snobby about. You have standards and taste, and you don’t apologize for them. When you’re doing the activity, you don’t have to think about whether you’re doing it right. Mastery like this frees up the part of your brain that’s been grinding away at barely-solvable problems.
You enter a flow state, where your skill is in balance with a sense of challenge. Your brain releases dopamine and your self-critique calms down for a bit. It also activates the default mode network, which comes online when you aren’t so focused on the outside world. It’s a time of wakeful rest, daydreaming, and creativity.
So when you take a break from uncertainty and repot a root-bound plant or de-grease your bike chain, you’re giving your brain some work it already knows how to do, which helps you reconnect with yourself.
Besides, whatever you’re good at is probably an expression of what you care about. If you’re a painter, it might be because beauty and creativity are important values to you. That makes the rest you get from the activity something that replenishes your spirit as well.
The Irony of Mastery
If you’ve been working at something for a long time – piano, carpentry, understanding bees – you probably know how much more proficient you could be. The closer you get to mastery, the further away it seems. That’s good news, as it keeps your practice alive. I don’t know many people who say, hooray, I mastered that thing and have nothing left to learn. On to the next topic.
In the form of mastery I’m talking about, you aren’t chasing the pinnacle of skill with all of your energy. You’re pausing in the ability you already have. Maybe you make something for the love of making it. Friends tell you that it’s so good that you could sell it, but you always decline. It would be way less fun if it was your actual job. This is the place to dwell – in the thing that has value to you that you aren’t willing to monetize.
A couple of years ago, I was overwhelmed by being in a state of constant learning about new coaching topics and business admin tasks. I was also supposed to be getting ready for a long trip which would involve complicated packing. Without really realizing what I was doing, I started sewing placemats and napkins. Twelve each. I had to experiment with a few patterns and sizes, I messed up several times, then I got into a rhythm.
And then the project was done, and I could look at it, hold it in my hands. It was the perfect antidote to work that had no end. I could rest in my skill and produce something tangible.
How to Find the Skill That Feels Like Rest
One nuance in all of this is the difference between what you’re good at that feels restorative, and what you’re good at that pulls your soul out through your throat. If you have to go through an emotional gauntlet to create a beautiful piece of writing, writing does not belong in this category. You’re looking for skill that doesn’t feel like effort. You get absorbed but not depleted.
And the thing doesn’t have to be impressive or interesting to anyone else. But it does need to scratch the edge of your ability. Some challenge is required here – if you can bake that banana bread blindfolded, it’s more of a zone-out activity than flow.
If you’re thinking that you have no skill that has even a whiff of mastery, I’d like to challenge you on that. You have been on this earth for several dozen years and you probably have at least a few things that feel easy and fun to you that other people find enormously difficult. Organizing a closet. Learning a piece of music on the ukulele. Doing the dance from Single Ladies. It might be something you used to be great at that you haven’t picked up in a while. Or an activity that might take a bit of time to get back up to speed on.
Lean in to that, and find a way to do it regularly. You get to call it rest.
What’s Waiting for You
Whatever you’re good at can’t be touched by a layoff or a terrible job market. It’s sitting there, waiting for you to visit.
So: what’s the thing you’re already good at that you haven’t made time for lately?
