Chapter 10: Flow

When Ego Falls Away

Our next session was a celebration edition as it took place exactly one year after the day Peter finished his last drink and entered rehab for the final round.

We’d agreed that he would bring his wife Helen along to do a round-up of what this first year without alcohol had meant to them as a couple.

When the four of us were seated, I tried to break the ice.

“Helen, so nice to finally meet you, I feel I know you from the many talks with Peter but it’s great to see you in person. Let me start by congratulating you both because it is as much your anniversary as it is Peter’s. We tend to forget how hard recovery is, also on the partner.”

“Well, thank you Dr. Lavorter. Yes, for sure it hasn’t been a walk in the park, but I’m grateful that Peter has one year of sobriety under his belt now.”

Helen’s tone of voice was warm yet surprisingly formal. Her poise and appearance made it clear that we were dealing with a confident woman who was used to running her own show. 

Impeccably dressed in Burberry, she had an air of sophistication and control about her. The way she handled herself gave a clear message that she had her own agenda and that she was not Peter’s plus-one to this party.

Seeing her up close, I could now perfectly picture how her ultimatum had been the final catalyst for Peter to give up the booze. She was a striking woman as well as a sharp cookie.

I felt that establishing trust with Helen would be essential to get to the next stage. It wouldn’t be the first time that the partner of an addict would see the therapist as a stranger, unwantedly interfering in a private and intimate situation between husband and wife. I would need to understand where she was coming from, get into her head, so to speak.

“Helen, please do call me Christine.”

She acknowledged my request with an understated smile, and I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. It made me wish I’d prepared better for this encounter. I decided to play the psychiatrist card first.

“There’s a reason why making it to one year sober is a big milestone. Twelve months of clear-headedness go a long way in dealing with the inevitable post-acute withdrawal syndrome. It’s a fact that the mind needs much more time to kick the habit than the body does. In that one year, the brain is able to repair most of the psychological damage that would have been inflicted by years of alcohol abuse.“

Helen asked: “So Peter’s getting better in your opinion?”

“Yes Helen, his anxiety levels have finally started to diminish and he has a more positive outlook on life. That is what I’ve observed these last couple of sessions.”

I could see that Peter was hesitating to say something. I continued, in order to give him more time to prepare his reaction.

“Recovery is all about dealing with the past and finding a new purpose in life. In a way, you could say that Peter crossed a minefield this past year, and although he got safely to the other end, the terrifying experience has changed him for the rest of his life. There’s less ego now and more truth. He has learned to some degree, to look at himself objectively and identify less with his thoughts and emotions.”

I could see that the minefield analogy ran true with Peter. This time, he barely let me finish my sentence. 

“You know Doc, in the past weeks leading up to the one year threshold, I was actually nervous. As if part of me could still not believe I was actually going to make it.”

“Anniversary anxiety is very normal in recovery, Peter, don’t worry. The old voice of addiction has tried one final time to rise to the occasion and make a desperate attempt to be heard.”

Helen was looking for something in her purse, which was quiet distracting. I continued.

“Maybe it suggested you were too weak to make it to the end, that you might as well give up, and not embarrass yourself. Maybe it whispered what’s the point anyway, in the final analysis you will drink again. You might even have felt a surge in the old cravings again. Sounds familiar?” 

“Yes, yes and yes.”

He seemed relieved that I seemed to know what’d been going through his head and that this was a common thing.

“But all of this is now behind you Peter, since you’ve made it to the one year mark. This is symbolic also in a deeper sense. The wheel of time has made a full revolution with you being sober.”

Peter’s expression showed he was open to anything I’d like to add, while Helen looked at me skeptically.

“OK, let me explain better what I mean here. Today one year ago was also a sober day, the first one, while the day before was still a drinking day for Peter. That one day makes all the difference in the world.”

I paused for the briefest of moments, and then continued. 

“It feels like you’re on more solid ground now. You’ve been on the wagon for a full three-hundred-and-sixty-five-days, so you’ve come full circle and that makes recovery more real somehow.”

I knew that Peter had a fascination with time, so I wanted to leverage that to make sure he’d understand the importance of this juncture.

“The wheel of time keeps turning ad infinitum, and we have cut it up in increments that make sense to us, on the basis of what we see in nature. That is why the one-year cycle represents the most universally relevant interval we know. From spring over summer, to autumn and finally winter. You’ve completely orbited the sun in one year without a drink.”

Peter had been staring at his hands for some reason, but now he looked up with an expression that fully affirmed what I’d just described. 

“Doc, that is so very true. It feels like I’ve outgrown my entry-level status. I can now face other recovering alcoholics with a certain legitimacy and confidence.” 

Helen’s demeanor seemed to have turned a hundred and eighty degrees upon hearing these words. She was clearly taking energy from any positive sign that Peter was able to give. Instantly, it made her look more empathetic in my eyes. She was on the look-out for new beginnings and starved for Peter to give her sufficient proof of life.

We fell silent for a moment. Kristina, Helen and I were all smiling at Peter, in the same way that proud adults beam over their six-year-old in a parents-teacher conference, singing the praise of his first report card and cheering him on.

I could see that this made Peter acutely self-conscious, and I felt it was time to move on. With his wife present here today, there was clearly a very different dynamic to the session.

As I was considering how to proceed, I observed from the corner of my eye how Helen was appraising Kristina in a way that only women do, when in each other’s company.   

I glanced at the young therapist, and suddenly I saw her through Helen’s eyes.

Kristina Vikander’s Scandinavian heritage clearly shows in the elegant nose, the full cheeks with the very high cheekbones and the captivating smile. Her model-like figure makes the picture complete, and, I must admit, the total package is kind of intimidating. She’s a powerful affirmation of the stereotyping that has Swedish women consistently in the number one position in the most attractive women polls.

Come to think of it, Kristina’s face is ridiculously perfect. It must be a ten on the golden ratio scale, the so-called divine proportion, as it appears in some patterns in nature, and which we find irresistibly appealing. 

I think back of the recurring occasions when my male patients were simply awe-struck every time Kristina entered the room. It’s a known fact that a man’s perception of female beauty is hard wired into his being. And his innate preference for the golden proportion so often means he’s powerless because it represents a subconscious attraction against which there simply is no male defense. Millions of years of species evolution have afforded the weaker sex with these congenital powers.

In short, Kristina is completely enthralling and dazzling to the male eye and, in stark contrast, a predator, a she-wolf, to the female observer.

And for sure, I could see that Helen was scanning Kristina’s exceptional features, the light-blue eyes, the full lips, the Nordic white blonde hair done up in a playful ponytail. And then Helen’s gaze dropped down to the long legs and high heels, and the navy skirt riding up a bit too high above the knee. All the while, Kristina was just sitting in her chair, innocently taking notes. 

Then Helen’s gaze landed upon poor Peter who, at that exact moment, also happened to be looking at my dear trainee. A most unfortunate timing.

I could read into Helen’s mind that she did not appreciate the fact that Peter had omitted to tell her that one of his therapists, was, in fact, this stunning young woman sitting here in all her glory. That is, if he had bothered mentioning Kristina at all in his accounts to Helen about his therapy sessions.

I could see a million questions in Helen’s eyes, but I was confident that she would use her emotional intelligence when confronting him after the session, which I was sure she was planning to do. 

It’d be only normal that Helen be protective of Peter, now that she finally had him back. She had battled at his side against the alcohol, and they had conquered. She was not about to give him the space now to even look at an attractive woman, especially one with a striking resemblance to Blake Lively.

As a side-note I should make it clear at this point that I’ve only come to know that Kristina looks anything like Blake Lively, because my own husband happened to mention this to me, after a function we attended together with Kristina at Geneva University. Which reminds me I still need to ask him how he knows of Blake Lively, anyway? 

Men!

Kristina meanwhile, was blissfully unaware of all of this, which was not an unusual state of affairs.

She looked up from her yellow notepad and showed signs of impatience as she obviously wanted to get moving on the session: “Peter, your Bangalore story was the complete opposite of the Bangkok one. Do you agree that Bangkok was ego-craziness, while Bangalore was Zen?”

Peter had been tuned in to the fact that something was going on between the women, but was of course clueless as to what it might be. He sure looked relieved at the chance to answer an actual question, and jumped on this train passing by.

“Yeah, that’s right, Kristina. I feel I’ve turned that page. That is also why I love traveling in India. It’s one of the few places where I can stay in the now.”

Now that we were on the topic, I too had a couple of things to say about his latest writing.

“Peter, I found it quite ironic how you had that memorable conversation with the wise, old man about the fact that time is only a construct of the mind while the very structure of your story was a memory flashback.”

"Glad you noticed, Doc.” He smiled at me, quite pleased that the built-in paradox had not escaped me.

I wanted to say more but Kristina jumped in.

“The ending was brutal, though. Your lovely description of the wedding preparations and the ceremony quite frankly had me sitting on cloud nine. Then, to learn that Aneeta got beaten to dead by extremists was a total upset. You either have a great imagination Peter, or you are a true magnet to life-or-death situations.”

“I’m afraid it was a true story, Kristina. Helen and I attended Aneeta’s Hindu funeral in Bangalore, five days after I got the voice mail from the Police Commissioner.”

Helen nodded affirmatively, thereby wiping away all doubts. This frankly surprised me, as I had been convinced the story’s ending had been fiction, rather than fact.

And then, as if she could not hold it any longer, Helen took the lead: “I wonder whether we could talk now about how Peter and I can resume a more normal life. I feel he’s still living in the past, what with all the stories and the psycho-analysis. I would like us to get back into the flow of things.”

Her assertive statement slightly alarmed me. It dawned on me that Helen was not here so much to take stock of the past year but to get us to make Peter face forward rather than backward. 

She wanted us to throw him a jolt.

Without a doubt, this would change his perspective, but I could see also how it could put immense pressure on him.

“Helen, I understand this is very important to you. You have been extremely patient with Peter. You’ve supported him through years of heavy drinking, four stints of rehab and tree relapses. And the past year of sobriety has been everything but easy, with the heavy withdrawal symptoms and the melancholic state of mind. I am aware of all this, but...”

Helen was not to be placated and she interrupted me with no hesitation.

“Look, Doctor Lavorter, I know Peter’s had a lot of stuff to deal with and I am still supportive of the therapy and the writing. It’s just that I want it to take a new direction now. Peter has to take his destiny in his own hands. Let the past be the past, it’s time to move on.”

It was clear that the couple had discussed all of this at home before the session, from the way that Peter seamlessly fell in line with his wife.

“Doc, a while back you said that happiness is a decision. Well, I have made that decision, but I need your help to act upon it and to make happiness a reality. There is a big difference between rationally understanding that I am the only one who can make me happy and emotionally knowing how to do that.”

Kristina jumped in.

“Peter, I hear you. What you’re saying is that you have lost track of what it means to feel happy. You need to recapture and model what it meant to you in the past, before your drinking problems got in the way.”

I took Kristina’s queue before Peter could answer.

“Peter, Helen referred to getting back into the flow. I want to take this literally for a moment. Can you recall a situation in which you experienced flow so we can recognize it? It means different things to different people, and I want to make sure I understand what it represents to you.”

Peter took a moment to gather his thoughts.

“Well, what comes to mind is a time early in my career, that I thought I had it made, that my ship had come in. I was part of a great team and we were completely in the zone and about to get very rich. We were in sync with the laws of the universe, so to speak. Everyone was doing the best they could and everything we touched turned into gold.”

He stopped for a moment and looked out the window, savoring the memory.

“I can still feel the excitement now, just thinking back about that magic time. There was a sense of belonging, a feeling of connectedness. Nothing could stop us, as a team.”

Kristina did not waste any time. 

“That would make for an excellent write, Peter.”

I smiled at her and nodded my agreement to Peter. I looked at the clock.

“Peter, I’d like to use the remaining time today to discuss with you and Helen how you can live more fully in the present, as a couple. It seems to me that this is a key ingredient towards your happiness.”

I looked at Helen who seemed fully on my side now, and then I faced Peter again.

“Your dialogue in India with the wise old man was very telling, Peter. You acknowledged that you are not ready to accept things as they are, that you constantly want to change the world and yourself to fit your own expectations.”

Peter nodded, somewhat cautious to where this was going.

“As discussed in many of our sessions, you need to face the fact that often things will not work out the way your mind wants them to. Your personal preferences only cause frustration and resistance. Stop the tyranny of your mind.”

Helen was quick to confirm.

“I strongly agree with that, Doctor Lavorter.”

She quickly corrected herself.

“Christine, I mean.”

I nodded her to go on.

“Peter’s constant regrets about his years of drinking, about all the time lost, the opportunities missed. And his constant worry of what will come next. All of that does not help us to move forward, not one inch.”

Peter’s upset expression revealed that he was torn between a firmly defensive reaction and a willingness to discuss what just had been put on the table. He decided to play along and not fight the room.

“Well, it is true that I still get frustrated with things and I know that accepting them as they are would make things easier. Rather than trying to change my world, I should try to change my attitude, right?”

I nodded and he sighed.

“Easier said than done, though.” 

Kristina had a quote ready. 

“Michael J. Fox, the actor who was diagnosed with Parkinson’s at age twenty-nine, said My happiness grows in direct proportion to my acceptance, and in inverse proportion to my expectations.”

That statement seemed to agree with Peter.

“I get it. I get the importance of letting things be, but at the same time, I don’t want to remain a passive bystander. I want to reconnect with a sense of personal direction, I want to live deliberately rather than by default. I want to find purpose and joy in the present. I want to feel alive!”

He almost shouted that last sentence. It was clear that there was a lot of pent-up frustration there. He was still stuck in an old paradigm, with himself as the hopeless and helpless victim.

Kristina was again the first to react. 

“Peter, do you remember me questioning a couple of months ago why you restrained yourself in your Singapore story about Michelle? You were so eager to participate and to connect with others, but instead you limited yourself to simply accounting the facts as you observed them?”

“Yes I do, Kristina. I guess I am reserved and detached that way.”

I looked at Helen who was rolling her eyes when he said this. Peter noticed and hurt showed on his face. This was not going the way I wanted it to.

Kristina continued unperturbed. 

“It seems to me you have been an understudy for long enough, it is about time for you to take to the stage yourself. I know you have been anticipating this for a while, you’ve said so many times.”

She looked him straight in the eyes. She wanted him to register this.

“Well, I encourage you to take a risk and re-engage with life. I know you are still healing but I think you should move forward with a new project, even if you do not have the guarantee that things will work out. I think you will find this new mindset much more liberating and exciting. Life is fun, you need a new challenge to bring your A game to the table again.”

I was impressed.

Helen said with conviction: “That is also what I have been suggesting, let us start something new together. We could do with a new game plan.”

Peter took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a minute and said:

“To me, the present is serious as a heart attack.”

I wanted to protect him from possible ridicule and quickly said:

“What do you mean, Peter?”

“I realize I escape in the past and into the future because the present time frightens me. I find myself trying to live on the sharp edge of existence, trying to taste the mystery of life. But in the end, I am afraid to get hurt again.”

Before I could stop her, Helen spoke loudly, not trying to hide the irritation in her voice: “But, what do you mean? Get hurt from what?”

Peter decided this was an excellent time to remain silent. It was possible that this was not the first time this topic had led to disagreement.

Our time was almost up and I wanted this to finish on a positive note.

“Peter and Helen, I hope you realize it is a good thing that these words are spoken here today, in this risk free environment. Better to get it all out.”

They both nodded.

Helen said: “I’m sorry, I did not mean to…” But she was looking at me rather than at Peter.

Kristina was the one who wrapped it up for the day.

“Look, I don’t see what the big issue is. It’s obvious that Peter is somewhat apprehensive of living in the here and now. That is also why he used to escape into alcohol. Let us focus on helping him get there, ok?” 

When I saw Helen and Peter out, I felt ambiguity about the session. I needed some time to digest everything that had been said. But mostly it was a lesson in humility. It was clear we were not yet out of the woods.

Prism by Peter Baer

 

I recall that long, hot August day in the summer of 2000 like it was yesterday.

 

Never Be the Same Again, the song by English singer-songwriter Melanie C that captures perfectly the feeling of a forbidden affair is blasting from the sound system. The music carries over the water, reverberates against the cement walls of the Prinsengracht and then farther down Amsterdam’s concentric canal belt.

 

With broad smiles on our faces, we raise our champagne flutes in a toast to our fabulous start to the New Millenium. The sun shines bright like a diamond and we feel like Masters of the Universe.

 

What we are is a team of young expats, gathered on the deck of an Amsterdam canal cruise ship, celebrating the success of our fledgling start-up company.

 

Our CEO Brent calls for attention: “Team, here’s to us making it big, cheers!”

 

At that exact moment, behind him up on the quayside, two bike-riders, distracted by the noise, collide into each other in a very silly way. We all burst out laughing, leaving Brent totally confused in the center, staring at us and wondering what’s so funny.

 

Wenke, the stunning redhead who is our HR Manager, puts Brent out of his misery by sweetly whispering in his ear what just happened. As Brent’s face clears up, we all laugh once again and salute him, with glasses held up high.

 

A little over two years ago, this team spontaneously clustered together here in Amsterdam. From day one, the everything-is-possible aura of this vibrant city had us totally psyched. It’s not a fluke that this magic place has quickly become Europe’s number one hotspot for Internet start-ups. The mood in this city is pregnant with energy.

 

And we have not looked back since, not once. At least not until today, assembled here on the water to celebrate our amazing success. Plenty of reasons to be proud, since we managed to position ourselves exactly in the right place at the right time to help kick-start the Internet miracle on the old continent.

 

For starters, we followed the smart money from the States into Europe and overnight, we became prime movers in the space of broadband infrastructure. We put glass fiber into the ground at an accelerating pace, trying to keep up with the market’s insatiable appetite for high-speed bandwidth.

 

And then we got noticed by Sequoia Capital, the early-stage venture capital firm who injected us with mountains of cash to keep us growing and eventually got us listed on NASDAQ, the stock exchange for high-risk dotcoms.

And that brings us to today, each of us the proud owner of a ridiculous amount of stock options. Ever since we went public, our stock price on NASDAQ reaches a new record high every single day, moving our options ever deeper in-the-money.

 

I still cannot believe this simple fact. The stock does not go up and down. No. It only moves up.

 

What this means is that literally each and every one of us is now a dollar millionaire, from the CEO all the way down to the receptionist!

 

At least on paper, that is. Our options do not vest for another eighteen months, so for now, we cannot cash in. We just have to sit tight and wait.

 

But boy, does it feel good to be rich!

 

Surely, this fortune cannot slip away from us, not when we have such forward momentum. No need to worry about something we cannot control, right?

 

I look around me and I try to savor the moment. The entire Amsterdam canal district is protected as a UNESCO World Heritage Center and it sure seems like the perfect backdrop to our celebration here today.

 

The facades of the historic canal houses bear witness to the city’s enrichment through maritime trade in the 17^th century. This city was the capital of the world-economy in its day and it sure recognizes success when it sees it. A venue fit for kings or their contemporary equivalents.

 

Yet, why do I feel out of place somehow?

 

The afternoon sun burns down heavily on the water which de facto acts as a prism, breaking the sun’s spectrum into its constituent colors.

 

The sun glitter is totally blinding and there is something slightly disorienting about the way the white light is dispersed into its basic colors. Especially the violet and blue hues somehow give these settings a sinister look and feel. Or is it just me?

 

I realize I’m stuck in my head again and I force myself to come back to the here and now. I look at my fellow entrepreneurs.

 

The girls are wearing short flowery summer dresses and have their hair done like Jennifer Anniston’s signature sleek blowout. They look lovely and full of life.

 

The men wear geek t-shirts with the unavoidable tongue-in-cheek quotes such as Life would be much easier if I had the source code and I can explain it to you but I can’t understand it for you.

 

We’re quite the assorted group: Irish, Dutch, American, French, Belgian, Canadian and two Belarussian network engineers who speak only Internet Protocol. If not by language, we’re connected through our skills and passion for this brave new online world. We are wired in, and fully engaged in our craft.

 

In the here and now, I zoom in on one young woman in particular. I’m not the only one who finds it difficult to take his eyes off Natasha.

 

Tash, as we call her affectionately, is our PR lady and she’s also the face and voice of our little start-up. She’s a beautiful girl, resembling a young Charlize Theron, a fellow South-African. Like Theron, she has perfect skin, flame-gold hair, jade-green eyes and the smile of a movie star. And to make her truly irresistible, she wears cherry-red lipstick, matching the color of her finger- and toe- nails.

 

Tash grew up in the affluent suburbs of Pretoria, at the height of Apartheid. Straight out of college, she moved to the Cape and found a loft at the very foot of the Tafelberg mountain.

 

She was hired by Stellenbosh Vineyards on the historic Welmoed farm, just a half an hour drive outside of Cape Town. Through her clever marketing, the exports of the beautiful Stellenbosch whites and reds grew to stellar heights.

 

But although she’d come to love the wine business, she wanted a taste of the freedom and equality that Europe had to offer and so she eventually made it over to Amsterdam, the city where anything goes.

 

When she and Brent met one summer evening two years ago in a bar on Rembrandt Square, they hit it off over drinks and simply agreed for Tash to become our new public relations manager. Her natural enthusiasm spilled over into the job. Tash has been simply brilliant at putting us on the map with her off-the-wall approach to advertising and promotion.

 

Along with all the other men here, I’ve had a secret crush on Tash since the first time I saw her. The fact that we all know that Tash has a lover back home in Cape Town, a guy she rarely speaks about, just adds to her mystery.

 

Our Operations Director Tony is from Nebraska, and I observe how he and Tash are standing at the very front of the ship, deep into a heated discussion on driving Lexus versus Porsche, happily spending money they do not have. I can’t help but smile.

 

Our future sure is lavish with opportunity. The prospect of us getting filthy rich is wildly appealing and brings with it the promise of complete freedom and autonomy. The thought of never having to work for a boss again, and being financially independent at a ridiculously young age, is as blinding as the sunlight is on the water.

 

Instinctively, I know that our success comes from the fact that as a team, we have achieved flow. We’re at the exact point of the curve where the challenge at hand matches the peak of our skills.

 

No doubt about it, we are at the top of our game. The unrestrained energy we demonstrate comes from feeling unhindered by life’s usual limitations. All the ordinary, everyday stuff is adjourned until we get to the end of this ride, for better or for worse. We have placed a big bet in life, and we’re all in this together.

 

Our motivation is intrinsic and our focus is contagious. The company’s hierarchy is only symbolic because each of us inherently knows what to do.

 

Our marketing tagline is Failsafe, that is how confident we are. Each of us is a domain expert and as a team, we’re shooting for zero errors.

 

Our game plan is intuitive and crystal clear. We’ve even named our conference rooms after famous prisons, like Sing Sing, Alcatraz, and Robben Island, in order to remind ourselves not to waste precious time in meetings. Staying in the zone is key to our survival, and meetings are like poison.

 

Deep down, I feel privileged because stars and planets must have aligned for something this extraordinary to happen. This good fortune brings me as close to a feeling of immortality as I will ever get.

 

And yet.

 

Staring down at the waterline, the word prism lingers from my earlier thoughts about the sunlight refracting in the canal water. When light travels from air into water, it slows down and changes direction slightly, like a prism. Ever since I was a small child, I have known that you cannot see straight through a prism, because it bends the light.

 

I feel annoyed with myself. Why can I not simply enjoy this beautiful afternoon? My mind sure has a way of screwing up memorable moments, with its constant, irrelevant background drivel.

 

But then I mentally ‘see’ the metaphor and I acknowledge that maybe I’ve been blind to what is right in front of me. The elated mood we’ve been in as a group and the exciting thoughts about unlimited wealth have been a like a prism, bending our reality.

 

If something sounds too good to be true, it probably is. Our small company is years away from turning a profit, yet our stock price is sky high, based upon unrealistic market expectations and a lot of emotion. What if this is just an illusion, a castle in the air?

 

All said and done, if I could run to the bank right now and cash in my options at fifty cents to the dollar, I would do so right away. But the option’s vesting schedule has me in a golden cage.

 

So I’ve got really no choice but to believe the bubble will not burst. I am resolved to see this through to the end. After all, the analysts are falling over themselves to convince the public that this is only the start of the boom cycle. I’d be crazy not to sail this strong tailwind of the new economy and miss out on the gold rush. I need to remind myself every day to stay bullish.

 

 

The last thing I remember from that day is that I almost physically brush my worries away. I raise my glass for a refill and the alcohol somewhat preserves this precious illusion of a carefree world.

 

But there’s no denying that my earlier lightheartedness has gone, as if while floating on the water, unknowingly, the ship has passed a tipping point.

 

With hindsight, that day in Amsterdam was a defining moment. The dot-com collapse that soon followed, turned our stock options into worthless paper. The new economy crashed and burned in a spectacular fashion and the NASDAQ ended the year more than fifty percent off its high.

 

Giddy investors suddenly sobered up after figuring out that web businesses with little revenue and no profit were fundamentally worthless. A global recession kicked in within a year. The 2000 crash will be remembered forever as the speculative bubble that wiped out five trillion dollars of stock market value.

 

This was also the end of our dream team.

 

When the prospects of great wealth had evaporated, we each went our own way, looking for new horizons. We said our goodbyes and swore friendships for life, but at the same time, we were sure that this would not reproduce itself, not ever. Stars and planets had already drifted back into their normal orbits.

 

The magic had ended.

 

Looking back now, we were very lucky coming out with only our egos bruised. But in the moment, it felt as if our very universe imploded on us as if we’d been once again reduced to mere mortals.

 

I did not get rich there and then, but I did take a couple of priceless things with me from that afternoon on the water.

 

That remarkable feeling of flow, leading to peak experiences when all ego falls away. Actions and thoughts that automatically follow previous ones. An activity that completely absorbs a person and leaves him or her without a sense of time. Incredible focus leading to limitless opportunity.

 

I was lucky to have been able to bottle that feeling and access it at later times in life when inspiration and excellence were much needed.

 

And of course, there was that bitter-sweet flavor of immortality, right there on the canals. That one afternoon in the sun, we were the quintessential circle of young people who were convinced they had discovered the elixir of life. Celebrating existence and signing up for eternal youth.

 

I would not have missed it for all the money in the world.

 

Author's Note

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