I stare into the blankness of the computer screen. The cursor blinks in and out of existence. I wait for something… a sense– a purpose. I expect to know what to write before it is written. Just as I am about to get a word in, my phone beeps with a notification. I reach for it.

The flow. It’s a point in rowing where all is unison– where people feel connected to one another through action. The boat feels alive. In this moment, it is imperative to act without error, because a single misstroke will result in the boat falling out of sync. Synchronicity in this manner leaves no room for emotions, thoughts, or identity. It is simple yet difficult to maintain.

The clock ticks incessantly, marching like a neighboring, terrible tribe with tribulations and unrest. Light shines through the windows and gets dimmer as the day goes along. Shadows stretch. Breathing is in the background of the ruminations. The mind begins stressing, “What am I missing? Did I not finish the job? What did they think when I said…”

“How strange it is, how moving, that this hardness should be so fragile. Nothing can interrupt it yet all can break it.” Jean-Paul Sartre in Nausea