Flumberico occurs in that instant between anarchy and sanity. This is when you are bumbling in the dark, then, bam, one day something shining comes out of the blue. It’s not science. It’s not magic either. It is the sloppy middle-ground where things are bad, and then just right.

Nobody plans for Flumberico. It slips in the back door when you are too busy not to notice. You are overthinking, over-auditing, overworking, and in a flash, your slip-up kills the performance. As spilling paint and finding that the splash is better than your whole canvas. That’s the beauty of it. The accident becomes the art.

Flumberico does not demand perfection. It laughs at it. Perfection is hard; Flumberico folds, twists and even falls on his head into greatness. It does not like straight lines and foregone conclusions. It is nourished by motion– crude, jerky, a little wanton motion.

Ever tried to organize a conversation that happened to take a totally wrong turn but ended up being something to remember? That’s Flumberico at work. It finds its way in unstructured, the silence, the laugh that cuts tension. You can’t rehearse it. You can only live it.

Others are afraid of such uncertainty. They desire organization, regulations, order. Yet control is like a strangler of creativity, more so than silence in a room. Flumberico offers a way out. It asks you to release, to have faith in the unknown, to admire in the unstrauss. It’s the opposite of tidy. It’s alive.

I even saw a person make a chair without measuring anything. They guessed. Eyeballed every cut. Everybody laughed till the thing had a weight in it–and seemed pretty, too. It should not have been so, yet it was. It is Flumberico–logic gone astray and yet makes a sense of it.

Perhaps that is what we should be provided with less of–less accuracy, more sport. Fewer fears of going off the track, more interest in finding out where it goes. Since there are times when the cracks of the plan would be where light would creep in. Flumberico reminds us not to keep imposing order on things that would rather dance. And then perhaps, perhaps, That is where the good things start.