Learning Lives Where Excuses Die: In Glacial Water
Aliveness arises on the other side of the unfamiliar. It's a valuable, vibrant pay-off for our hungry curiosity.
Nature Is Our Classroom
By Les Mottosky
A shameful admission: I'm a burden on the tax system. This is involuntary and it's accurate.
As a year-round river swimmer I've experienced a dozen-or-so winter visits from the men and machinery of Calgary’s emergency response teams. I've never put myself in a compromising position, but on those bitterly cold days, it's perceived that way by gawkers and walkers along the river path. Firefighters, police, paramedics and river rescue have all been summoned by the beacon of my swim shorts. (Even the police service's 'HAWC' Helicopter snitched to 911 while I undressed on an icy peninsula).
These friendly— and sometimes understandably annoyed— first responders had suggested that when it's bitterly cold, I contact the non-emergency line pre-dip so 'The Crew' isn't sent out when an observant citizen calls in their concern. Now, in the winter, I'm on a first name basis with non-emergency dispatchers.
Beyond noticing that some people can't mind their own business, the Bow River has taught — and re-taught — me valuable lessons. Below are a few insights that anyone can benefit from their reminder. These aren't instructions or advice, but simple, honest observations:
Just try it. Whatever your 'it' is. Choose to surprise yourself. The nervous system wakes up in the face of uncertainty with any new activity. Dopamine, confidence, and identity all get refreshed when we push past hesitation and seek to develop mastery. Aliveness arises on the other side of the unfamiliar. It's a valuable, vibrant pay-off for our hungry curiosity.
Consistency doesn’t demand perfection. I go nearly every day - call it 345 days a year. Real discipline is learning to show up often. Not flawlessly, but consistently. The tyranny of perfectionism kills progress, but an established rhythm maintains it. This can also lead to rock-solid-reliable personal discipline. And it's the consistency, not insistency, that builds it.
It doesn’t take much (especially clothing) to be happy. Modern comfort has tricked us into over-layering everything; our bodies, our lives, our fragile and tyrannical identities. When stripped to the essentials, joy often feels closer. Because it is closer. Simplicity doesn't need to be a cost. It’s often a step towards what most of us crave from the core of our being: freedom.
Anticipation is where most suffering blooms. Where winter swimming is concerned, the preceding narrative in my head about the approaching discomfort is always worse than the experience of being submerged. More generally, it's a pretty common that humans abuse our imagination. We simulate worst-case scenarios in vivid detail, even though reality is far gentler. Kinder too. Jumping in the Bow River is a scintillating reminder that my imagination is an incomparably valuable tool. Until it becomes a tormentor through anticipation.
Resistance drains our energy. Standing and fighting in a waist deep current is infinitely more challenging than immersing and flowing. Surrender changes contention into acceptance. In nature, life, and our own minds, tension demands struggle while flow invites adaptation. Control is frail. Surrender, agile. And in these turbulent times, agility will be our lifeline.
Change isn't something to manage. It’s something to belong to. We often want change to be clean, directional and progressive. Along the 150 mile flow from the Bow Glacier to my feet in downtown Calgary, the river meanders wildly. It deepens in resistance and widens in surrender. It doesn’t ask for permission to shift course. It just shifts. And when we commune with wild water, we shift too.
Change doesn't need to be a threat. It can be the condition for aliveness.
Vitality isn’t circumstantial. It’s practiced. I maintain a year-round tan line. Forty or fifty minutes per wintery week with sun rays reflecting off water, ice and snow will do that. But why? Mostly for the Vitamin D, but it's also become a self-signalling reminder that this practice of stripping down on the river bank is my commitment to living. Not just enduring it. It's proof to myself and for myself that even in the coldest seasons, I show up — outdoors — inviting the transformative elements (and their lessons). The resulting tan is an ecological tattoo, not only by the sun, but also by choice. In a climate that invites hibernation, this faint but diverging line is my talisman of presence, mental toughness and an ever-deepening reverence for robust health via Nature's gifts.
Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there. The powerful current isn't as scary as what lurks beneath it. Submerged logs, razor sharp ice, jutting rocks and beavers have delivered sensations from agony to abject terror. (Swimming at dusk with a 45 pound water rodent can metaphorically chill a literally chilled spine). Our assumptions about "the familiar" blind us. What’s unseen often holds more influence than what’s visible. In rivers, relationships, and our own world views. Humility invites awareness while hubris (it's necessary opposite), can assure damage. And learning. Lots and lots and lots of learning.
Mama Nature does not negotiate. She is unfamiliar with comfort and therefore teaches through contact. I've smashed toes countless times, broke a thumb and sustained a cut from the ice that lead to a dangerous 6 week infection. (I donate a lot of blood to the Bow). The illusion of control collapses the moment I forget my place and take-on something bigger than myself. This is always my reminder to maintain a healthy respect for something much bigger and more powerful than my little plan.
Resourcefulness is the foundation for navigating life. I’ve learned that slides (the casual footwear aka flip-flops) make effective hand rudders when body-surfing in the summer rapids. This is also a reminder that adaptation is about using what’s available, not waiting for the ideal tool. Creativity thrives in constraint. When we stop asking “what’s missing?” and start wondering “what’s possible?”, we gain access to new ways. I've also noticed this shift in questions also contributes to a mindset of resilience.
It’s not cold, it’s just different. This is my motto on the days I really don't want to get in. What we label as “cold” can more effectively be thought of as novel -even when it's a daily habit. The body can and will adapt remarkably well when the mind stops resisting novelty. Judgment narrows the experience that neutrality blows wide open. And in that resulting vacancy arises an opportunity to astonish ourselves. This still happens on occasion. Even after half a decade.
Nature is the medicine. Nature has the answers. Nature is who we are. Immersion in Nature re-regulates the nervous system, quiets mental noise, and reconnects us to ancient rhythms. It's not only where we go to escape the harsh, subversive, synthetic environment of modernity; it’s where we remember. And the more extreme the environment, the more blissful the hormone dump. In a world of digital overstimulation and addiction to convenience, Nature remains our original parent and the most generous of teachers.
While I revere – and sometimes crave – it, I don't recommend swimming in glacial water. But I do invite pursuing one of it's outcomes: self-astonishment. Particularly with Nature as the teacher. Like love itself, Her lessons are indelible.
TAGS: #Nature Is Our Classroom #Wisdom In Leadership #Nature At Work #Humility #Adaptation As Innovation
Les Mottosky
Adaptation Strategist // I help organizations turn creativity into their competitive advantage by aligning leadership, culture and strategy to unlock adaptive innovations.
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