cold water×regret×your brain

Have you ever jumped in cold water? Been forced to take a cold shower when the rest of your family or roommates used up all the hot water?

Growing up in the Seattle area, a favorite family activity was boating. I grew up with a hero (Dad) who’d often go for slalom ski runs on the lake before work. I followed suit, during a time when wakeboarding was a brand new and relatively unknown sport.

The lakes in the Pacific Northwest are beautiful. The only problem is the moderate climate means the lake water hardly warms up, even in the peak of the summer. For a period, we were wakeboarding year-round, hacking ways to beat the cold temperatures with a combination of dry suit technology, gloves, and coolers full of hot water.

The feeling of jumping into Seattle lake water is forever etched in my memory. A more extreme shock in January than in June, certainly, but I have to admit that even in the early summer months the water will still take your breath away when you jump in.

It’s really an uncomfortable feeling. It’s not fun. As a teenager, I’d go out with my dad and friends and we’d help psyche each other and ourselves up for the challenge, knowing how much fun we’d have once we got through that initial discomfort. Even then, it took commitment to make that leap.

If you’ve ever had a similar experience, I’m sure you’d agree that initial shock is really not enjoyable. But did you ever notice how awake and alive you feel after?

I’ve spent a lot of time this past year studying the brain, primarily to learn new ways to improve my energy and overall health. But the lesson I keep coming back to is simpler: discomfort can talk us out of experiences we might otherwise enjoy.

Identifying what we’re afraid of gives us a chance to decide how to respond. Can you remember a time you intentionally did something you were afraid of, no matter how small? Do you remember how you felt afterward?

The jump I didn’t take

I went to a family reunion last week. My cousin owns a beautiful home on the Columbia River in Eastern Washington and is kind enough to let our unreasonably large extended family enjoy it for reunions. This was the first reunion I’ve been to since I moved to Nashville in 2012, so I got to see cousins and family I hadn’t seen in six years or more. We had three boats out there with any combination of toys and watersports equipment you could dream of.

Having enjoyed owning a boat in Nashville the last several years, I’ll be the first to admit I’ve gotten used to the bathtub water temperatures we enjoy in lakes in the South. It’s not uncommon for the water temperatures to be between 85–88°F all summer. So when I dipped my toe in that river water in Washington and looked at the 65°F water temperature reading, I decided I’d be too cold to get in and spent three days in the comfort of my dry clothes.

I didn’t mind at the time. I didn’t feel left out and had a great time. But now that I’m back in Nashville and have a few minutes to reflect, I really regret NOT jumping in. Not because I particularly wanted to jump on a tube or catch a ride behind the boat. But because I don’t know the next time I’ll be able to go to another reunion. What if it’s another six years?

I wish I would’ve taken the opportunity to jump in and swim around with my dad and my sisters. That cold water would’ve been a little painful and uncomfortable for a minute, sure. But more painful is the feeling of regret I have now, wondering how long it will be until the next time we’re all together as a family again. I’m reminded of a favorite saying:

So get out there. Sail away from your safe harbor and jump on in. Find something that makes you feel scared. Then, choose to conquer it. You might be glad you did.