The name self-forgetfulness does it absolutely no favors. When I’m rattling off the three pre-cursor states to inspiration – spaciousness, stillness and self-forgetfulness – the last one always trips people up.
Self-forgetfulness sounds like dissociation or being checked out. It also might sound like losing yourself in a way that should probably come with a warning label and a therapist’s business card.
But that’s not what I mean.
Self-forgetfulness, as a precursor to inspiration, is one of the most life-giving human states I know: the moment your attention stops circling around you like a nervous hawk and lands, fully, on something bigger. The work. The music. The mission. The meal. The people in front of you. The shared purpose pulsing in the room.
It’s not the absence of self. It’s the loosening of the small self. The one that keeps checking the mirror. The one that asks, How am I doing? How do I look? Did that land? Am I enough? Self-forgetfulness is what happens when those questions go quiet because something more compelling has entered the scene.
And here’s the part we don’t talk about enough: self-forgetfulness can be co-created.
Self-forgetfulness isn’t a solo sport
We tend to think of inspiration as private. A writer alone at a desk. An artist in a studio. A leader on a mountaintop having a breakthrough.
Sometimes that’s true. But some of the most potent inspiration doesn’t come from solitude but from synchrony. We can find self-forgetfulness by being part of something where your individual identity matters, but it isn’t the main character.
Think about a choir hitting a chord so perfectly it feels like the ceiling lifts. Think about a kitchen crew in the weeds on a Saturday night—calls flying, hands moving, bodies dodging each other like a choreographed storm. Think about dancers in rehearsal when it finally clicks and everyone stops thinking and starts being. Think about an activist group canvassing together, tired but electric, because the purpose is bigger than comfort. Think about a CEO peer advisory board where the conversation gets so honest and so real that nobody is polishing their image anymore and they’re just telling the truth.
In those moments, you can almost feel the ego stepping back. Not because it’s been shamed into silence, but because it’s been given something better to do: participate.
What happens when a group gets into flow
“Flow” is usually described as a state of deep absorption, where time distorts, self-consciousness fades, and you’re fully engaged in the task. We often talk about it as an individual experience, but groups can enter a kind of shared flow too.
You can feel it when everyone is attuned to the same goal. We can hear it when people stop talking over each other and start building on each other, when there’s a rhythm to the exchange, or when the room gets quieter in the best way because nobody is trying to prove they’re the smartest person there.
Group flow tends to require a few conditions:
- A shared purpose that matters.
- Clear roles or a clear “game” (even if it’s informal).
- Mutual trust—the sense that we’re doing this together, not competing for air time.
- Low fear of messing up.
That last one matters more than most of us realize.
Psychological safety: permission to not perform
Self-forgetfulness can’t happen in a room where everyone is performing.
Because performance keeps you self-focused. It turns your attention into a surveillance system: monitoring how you’re coming across, tracking reactions, editing in real time. Performance is exhausting because it’s not just doing—it’s doing while narrating yourself.
Participation is different.
Participation is when you show up as you are, contribute what you’ve got, and let the work be bigger than your image. Participation says: I’m here to help move this forward. Performance says: I’m here to be evaluated.
The bridge between those two is psychological safety.
Psychological safety doesn’t mean “everyone is nice” or “nobody gets challenged.” It means there’s enough trust in the space that you don’t have to armor up. You can offer a half-formed idea or ask a question that might sound naïve. You can disagree without fear of exile or be wrong without being diminished.
In psychologically safe spaces, you’re not constantly trying to earn your spot. You already have it, and in that security, your attention is free to move outward.
Community as mirror and spark
We often treat community as support, where we can be encouraged, comforted, and held.
And yes. Absolutely. Bring on the hugs (or the well-timed memes, the sarcastic comments, the embarrassing stories, depending on your brand of affection).
But community isn’t only support, it’s also a mirror.
Other people reflect you back to yourself often more clearly than you can see alone. In a good community, you don’t just receive validation, but also perspective, and visibility of patterns you didn’t notice. You hear your own story through someone else’s ears. You catch yourself mid-spin and realize, Oh wow, I’ve been making this all about me.
The small self is sticky. It clings to fear and pride and comparison like lint. A well-built community gently pulls you out of that loop and reminds you what matters. It invites you into reality.
When that happens, inspiration has room to enter.
Collaboration pulls us out of ourselves and into the work
The magic of collaboration goes beyond productivity because it can also trigger an identity shift.
When you collaborate, you have to make contact with something beyond your own preference and control. You’re listening, responding and adapting. You’re leaving space for others and their opinions, perspectives, and gifts. You have to release the fantasy that you can do it all alone and do it perfectly (which is why so many of us refuse to delegate – which is a topic for a different day and another blog post).
Collaboration asks a different question than performance does.
Performance asks: How am I doing?
Collaboration asks: What are we making? Or How can you help me make this better?
Those questions we ask in collaboration are rocket fuel for inspiration.
How to cultivate spaces that create self-forgetfulness
If you want more inspiration, don’t only look inward. Look around.
Here are a few practical ways to seek or build communities that invite self-forgetfulness:
1. Choose shared purpose over shared preference.
You don’t need everyone to be your type of person. You need everyone to care about the same thing.
2. Find rooms where honesty is normal.
Look for communities where people tell the truth kindly, where “I don’t know” is allowed, and where depth isn’t treated like a party foul (this is something I actively seek in my Vistage members, we go deep and everyone hangs their cape at the door).
3. Prioritize participation rituals.
The best groups don’t rely on vibe. They build structures that lower performance pressure: check-ins, shared language, rotating leadership, clear norms, intentional listening.
4. Notice where you feel the urge to impress.
That urge isn’t a moral failure. It’s data. If the room makes you feel like you’re being graded, self-forgetfulness will be hard.
5. Try “awe-adjacent” community.
Volunteer work. Choirs. Nature groups. Faith communities. Sports teams. Creative collectives. Any place where the experience itself is bigger than the individual.
Self-forgetfulness is not about disappearing. It’s about reappearing in the right proportion, smaller than you might normally, but in the best way, and connected to something vast, useful, alive.
When the small self loosens its grip, inspiration doesn’t have to fight its way in.
It just…arrives.
Because you’ve finally made room.