In his book on irrational problem solving, Alchemy, Rory Sutherland mentions in passing the oddity of bicycles.
Scientists can’t agree on how exactly a bike functions, they came into their current form factor through trial and error, and they are objects that, as Rory put it, “work but don’t make sense.”
As much as the bicycle’s form and function defy reason, what’s even more curious is the fact that someone as uncoordinated as me can ride one—requiring as it does a level of balance and coordination that I lack in most other areas of life. I have no jump shot to speak of, made Jiu Jitsu my fighting style because I lack the balance for striking, and can’t do a handstand unless it’s in a hallway where the walls are really close together. But somehow, like the equally logic-defying act known as ‘being creative’, I can ride a bike almost effortlessly.
You might say, “Well, it’s easy to do something well when you took to it as a child.”
That’s not true. While I’ve been drawing and writing since I was five, I didn’t learn to ride the bike until I was in 9th or 10th grade. Waiting until dinnertime before showing up at the basketball court, I rode in wide snaking arcs, jerking the handlebar whichever way I felt I was leaning too far as a course-correcting measure. During my first attempt, I careened all over the place, managing to almost hit the only two obstructions I could—the basketball nets. The next few times, I stuck to the adjacent soccer field before I was confident enough to take back the asphalt. When I saw someone coming I would stand astraddle the aluminum beast and pretend I was catching a breather. It only kind of worked—most kids gave me puzzled looks and wondered amongst themselves what I was doing with my roadie planted in the grass.
Eventually, I got the hang of it, upgraded to a mountain bike, and even learned a few tricks… until I wrecked it trying to do a wheelie for my sister. That’s a story for another time.
Now, during 7 AM glides to the gym, my mind is so openly permeable that it feels like I can catch ideas simply by slicing through them aloft my nearly two-dimensional Miyata. Which might be why bicycles are my favorite method of travel and ideation.
Bike riding may lack the element of risk and discomfort that Steven Kotler needs to be considered a proper flow state, but it puts me in a zone that’s very conducive to creativity nonetheless. Besides, I think the flow state is a bit too broad of a descriptor for heightened states of consciousness anyway. Many people come up with ideas in the shower, but it’s not like they’re challenging themselves to have the best shower ever while dancing on soap to heighten the danger. Instead, I believe our best ideas come to us when we are relaxed, playful, just slightly alert. Execution might be a grind, but the process of conception should, like exercising for long-term health, be light and fun.
And just like exercise, creativity should be practiced regularly. You may not have done so since you were a kid or you may have never spent much time doing it at all. But whether you choose to sketch, blog, make music, or play with some other problem entirely, the results are immensely rewarding. Like bicycle riding, after some awkward first tries you’ll know when you’re getting it right not through logic and rationalization, but intuition. And if you veer too far one way or another? Just bring your focus back to the problem at hand—course-correct.
After a while, coming up with ideas will cease to seem completely impossible and come to feel totally natural. Like riding a bike.