Finding one's 'nook'

We all have a place where we feel on top of our game and are able to do our best, which I’ll call “the nook”.
The Potomac, my current rowing venue, offers two widely different settings. The majestically wide Potomac flowing past the Key Bridge is a mirror to several major Washington D.C. monuments. It is also the playing ground for a flurry of rowing activities starting well before dawn and lasting till dusk: mostly big but also smaller rowing boats working on their daily routines, many with launch boats in town, carrying coaches yelling their stern commands in megaphones that trigger the rhythmic powerful oar sound response from large crews. An ever changing configuration of boats chase or yield, rest or push through the start creating multiple wakes that intersect, aiming for different openings under multiple bridges creaking with trains and cars. A dynamic cacophony of images, sounds, human and mechanical power.

Then, there is the “other” Potomac – the way it looks and feels before it reaches the bridge. As the days grew longer, it finally got bright enough in the morning to be able to row the “younger-wilder” side of the Potomac. I was astonished and relieved to discover that after rowing for just a few minutes upstream, I was surrounded by natural beauty: the banks are forested, and except for that occasional docked kayak or floating fishing boat, there are not many signs of human presence. I discovered different size islands and rocks piercing the water’s surface, fortunately punctuated by blue herons suspiciously checking out my progress. Flocks of cormorants that seem to have gotten over their solitary and skittish nature were hanging out and didn’t dive as soon as I approached. I got to look at their almost rubbery looking plumage (Phelps would probably appreciate such a swimming suit), and I was close enough to notice that their beaks were slightly bent  right at the tip. They would let their heads fall backwards in a mass reaction - seemingly laughing at how much equipment I need to move through the water - or maybe they were just swallowing their earlier capture? The only disturbance was created by large fish unexpectedly jumping out of the water in their mindless pursuit of insects, occasionally startling me and disturbing the mirror-like surface of the water. How can this rather narrow and wilder-looking river so quickly become the huge river formally flowing between perfectly smooth man-made granite banks, under the several downstream but so close by bridges bustling with traffic?

One thing I am sure of is that once I discovered the “other” Potomac, I knew I will truly enjoy my morning rows. The ample segment of the Potomac is great for rowing large boats – in fact those boats don’t dear thread the narrow and shallower waters upstream. Rowing upstream requires a lot of maneuvering – a finesse of technique that interferes with the pure adrenaline-driven type of performance so familiar to the large crew rowing boats. But my kind of rowing is powerful yet mindful, I don’t mind steering a less than straight course. Moreover, I like the peaceful surroundings that allow me to have both a physical and meditative experience in the same time.

If the connection I made this morning with a life/business learning is still obscure to the reader, I would refer to an earlier post “Going solo: small boats and big boats”. This morning I further felt that beyond the choice of medium (equipment!), the choice of environment is also essential for optimal personal performance. We all have to find our “nook,” a place to feel empowered: we have diverse ways of replenishing or generating our energy, which naturally happens in a place that satisfies our individual passions.

I learned that I can row the big Potomac pretty well - I was told (and proven by my survival of the ‘hazing party’ (“ A view to live for”), yet I felt more like I was measuring against Potomac, while this morning rowing upstream in my boat I felt I was Potomac.