It would seem like a good thing. It conjures up images of immersion in something that is exciting and rewarding; of letting go of all of the habits and fears that get in the way.
Possibly all of those things are true, and yet there is a trap.
During almost half of every calendar year I lose myself in my work, and when I emerge, it feels like a sad and scary mistake. The work itself is wonderful, and of course, the devil's advocate position is that it might not have been so wonderful had I not given up my soul to it. The ongoing challenge is figuring out whether it's worth it.
The things that make us most valuable to the people around us and the circles in which we travel are those things that are at the core of our beings. Our instincts, value systems, courage, hearts, and souls. When I lose myself, I lose traction with all of those things. I draw upon them, but it's mostly a one-way transaction. And when I step off the treadmill, I find them in short supply, replaced by anger, fear and sadness.
The only parallel experience was that of raising my children. But that trade-off was voluntary and conscious, and the potential rewards loomed large. A couple decades' worth of sacrificing chunks of my sanity, health, and desires to those of my kids was part of the bargain. An investment of sorts; not the kind with a guaranteed return, but one that demanded to be made. This is similar but somehow different.
It's a useful skill to be able to switch off personal feelings, opinions, and desires. It certainly clears out all of the noise and facilitates focusing on work that needs to be done. But I actually kind of like that woman who gets buried deep inside the machine. And when I struggle to be reintroduced to her, I find that I missed her more than I knew.
