On our drive down to the bulb for our swim this morning, Kim and I joked about the coming winter, the plunging water temperatures. “I can’t wait for my antidepressant to return,” I said.

“I know,” she said, “I need my euphoria drug.”

Many think we are crazy for loving the cold water as much as we do, but we aren’t actually joking about the positive impact on our mental health. Cold water makes me feel better in every way. I can pull up to the beach despondent, angry, achy, depressed, or exhausted, and I will feel better within minutes of immersing in cold water. And the benefits persist: At any point in the day after a cold water swim, I can close my eyes and return to the place of profound well-being that I felt in the water. Research supports my lived experience: regular swimming or dipping in cold water has been shown to ease symptoms of depression and anxiety and increases well-being.

And I’m not joking about being eager for the return of the healing magic of the cold water. 2025 has been a terrible year. Terrible for me, terrible for the world. The terribleness of 2025 probably explains why I haven’t written in this blog even once until now. Basic motivation has been hard to come by; inspiration, even harder. But I keep swimming, and it keeps helping.

Today the water didn’t turn out to be especially cold (62), certainly not cold enough for the cold water benefits to kick in. But water eases the burdens of my mental load in so many other ways, too. For one thing, the community of swimmers is just the best. Today, Kim and I swam with Kate and Sarah, alternating chatting with swimming, sharing in the stunning beauty of the late dawn sky and water.

And that beauty is another huge help: the slivers of silver and gold, pink and blue, the swirling ribbons of light in the water as the day begins. In his book, Blue Mind, marine biologist Wallace J. Nichols makes the scientific case that being near, in, under, or on the water makes us happier. Our brains, he argues, are hardwired to react positively to water. Then there’s the buoyancy: the way the water effortlessly suspends my body is a relief every time. This morning, I lay on my back in the gentle embrace of the bay and watched the last of the pelicans glide by as the sun rose golden over the hills.