Year in Review 2024

My first swim of 2024, I thought I might die.

I can’t tell you why. I’ve lived in the woods for weeks on end. I’ve laid awake at night shivering in freezing temperatures. I’ve swam in fridged water with only my skin between me and cold shock.

But for some reason I was worried that if my sister and I took a city bus through Gallway, and then walked to the local swimming beach, and jumped into the Atlantic Ocean on a brisk Irish January morning, I might catch hypothermia before I had a chance to walk half a block to the nearest coffee shop to warm up.

Thankfully, I wasn’t going to chicken out in front of my sister. So, we ran screaming together into the cold water. It was freezing and exhilarating and it felt so, so good.

There was another pair of young women also cold plunging that morning. They stripped off their clothes muttering to each other “This is fucking good for us, this is fucking good for us” as encouragement.

And so, on my first swim of 2024, I learned that doing hard things is easier if you do them with people.

And I didn’t die.

I didn’t start the year meaning to go swimming every month. But then I was at Loch Ness in February, and I’m not going to just visit Loch Ness and not go swimming in it. Then March arrived and I thought to myself “Well, I’ve already done the two hardest months. What if I set a goal of swimming every month this year?”

I’m not a new year’s resolutions type of person. I am criminally negligent with my follow-through and tend to flit from project to project with the concentration of an ADHD hummingbird. Instead, I try to choose a word that I hope will characterize the year to come. My word for 2024 was Steadfast. And what better way to be steadfast than throwing yourself into freezing cold water once a month.

March came around and I was back in the States with a stable job for the first time in about 5 years. This was the first swim I did out of commitment to the goal – and I think it was the hardest one. The sun had just returned to the northwest corner of Washington state, and I thought that would make the cold water more bearable. Wrong. My soul clung desperately to any scrap of warmth from the sun’s rays and refused to be returned to the cold dark depths of Lake Samish. I learned that contrast is a hindrance – not a help. The more you have to hold on to, the less you want to give it up.

Hard things are easier when you have nothing to lose.

There were several peaceful swims in the spring. Gorgeous mountain views, a rocky beach on the Pacific, and one with fish jumping out of the water all around my head. Then we headed into the summer. Yet again, the hottest summer on record for the globe. I got through it mostly unscathed tucked away in my boreal rainforest. But there was a week solid of heat advisories which I survived by living on the bank of the Nooksack river. I packed cold watermelon and tuna salad and a Bluetooth speaker and sat by the flowing mountain river from the moment I got off work until the sun went down.

I was joined by a cohort of fellow heat refugees. One was a middle school boy with a giant flamingo floaty. The whole evening, he ran a circuit – launching himself into the current next to me, floating down river, and then tromping back up the bank to do it all over again. We settled into a routine together. It became so familiar that even though we never said a word to each other the whole day, he felt the need to tell me he was on his last run so that I wouldn’t worry when he didn’t come back up.

There was a father and son with their two dogs who showed up as regularly as I did. They delighted in swimming across the river, walking up the opposite bank, then body surfing down the rapids together. I delighted in watching them. One of their dogs stayed on the bank near me and slowly rearranged the entire strip of beach by picking up one rock after another in his mouth and carefully placing it somewhere else. Over the course of a few evenings I learned all of their names and we waved at each other when we packed up to go home.

Surviving hard things can bring community together.   

September is my favorite time in Washington. Summer stretches long into the month and I threw myself joyfully into swim after swim. Early one morning I was driving home over a mountain pass with my brother and his girlfriend. My brother parked in a non-descript pull-off on Highway 2 and said he wanted to show me the swimming spot he and his friends had found. It was 9:00 in the morning and none of us intended to get in the water. But I was enchanted by the dark water pouring over sandy orange rocks which were cut into perfect benches and steps. That was the morning I learned that if a malicious woods spirit or seductive siren wanted to lure me to my death it would be so easy. I stripped off my clothes and plunged into the abys.

I lured my brother’s girlfriend in after me. And then together we convinced my cold-water-hating brother to join us. Neither of them would have gone swimming that morning on their own but my enthusiasm pulled them into the water with me.

Our joy can encourage others to do hard things.

Eventually the long dark of winter returned. My swims got colder and colder as the year sank back into winter. But by now I had learned – cold water wouldn’t kill me. December 31^st arrived, and my last swim of the year. By then I had learned to pack a thermos of hot cider, bring my wool blanket, and enjoy the process. Arriving at Lake Whatcom as sunset was turning to dusk, I looked at the cold water and told myself I was just going to walk straight in this time – no more grumbling and acclimating and shivering. And I did. I kicked off my boots and strode steadfastly into the water as the light faded on 2024. The cold welcomed me and I splashed around, even going back in for a second dip with my thermos cap of cider clutched in one hand. I luxuriated in the cold. And I didn’t die.

When you build habits one bit at a time it no longer seems hard.

There will be plenty of hard things to do in 2025 and the years to come. I’m glad I took the time to learn how to be steadfast in the face of challenges.

My word for 2025 is Jubilant. I want to find joy in the struggle. I want to laugh at tyrants. I want to jump into cold water literally singing with delight.

And I want to keep swimming. But that’s a given.