The Struggle to be Present

How the Ice Bath is helping in clarifying my internal struggle with self-actualisation versus a striving mindset.

When they finally fixed the ice bath at home, I got into the cold water at 5.6 degrees Celsius, thinking I was Wim Hoff. Within seconds, I got out, freezing and aching with pain. 

I wasn't as tough or resilient as I thought. What would all my heroes who swear by cold immersion think of me?

I returned to the drawing room, listened to Andrew Huberman's Podcast on Cold exposure, and understood that I needed to build up some resistance before attempting such a cold plunge.

I started again at a higher temperature of 12 degrees Celsius, and within a month, I progressed to being comfortably uncomfortable sitting for five minutes at  5.6 Celsius.

After a few months, the experience was so good that I've been doing it religiously, five days a week, and telling everyone I know about the benefits of cold exposure.

Namely, the dopamine buzz that kept me going for most of the day. I'm building resilience to cold in general and, hopefully, to life. I feel stronger, more indefatigable, and more immunity against minor illnesses.

I also think that the cold is reducing the inflammation in my battered body from all the sports and training I do.

A friend at dinner rolled her eyes at me when I lauded the use of the ice bath and said, "Are you sure you're not jumping on the latest fad in personal growth that you're always on about?"

"No, not at all. With the body, the results are immediate." 

"But what about the hedonic treadmill theory you keep bombarding me with? Humans tend to return to a relatively stable level of happiness or subjective well-being despite changes in their circumstances or external conditions."

"No, this is different. I've been doing it for a while now, and still, it feels amazing."

After journaling on what she said, I acknowledged that I've only been doing this for a few months and don't know whether the feeling will last. Or whether my inflammation from all the activities will come down or that I'm building the resilience the ice bath enthusiasts keep saying.

In my journal, I also asked myself a more significant question: Why am I always pursuing a better version of myself? Why can't I be satisfied with who I'm slowly becoming? 

Perhaps it all started when I was raised and schooled in London, the heart of modern capitalism—to do more, be more, and want more. This way of thinking was exasperated by my falling in love with self-reliance, personal growth, and self-help. 

Productivity and efficiency became my go-to values. Abraham Maslow's quote, "What one can be, one must be," hangs within eyesight of my desk in my home office.

Philosopher Renata Salecl writes in her book, The Tyranny of Choice :

"Capitalism has always played on our feelings of inadequacy, as well as on the perception that we are free to decide the path we will take in the future and thereby improve our lives…And capitalism, of course, has encouraged not only the idea of consumer choice but also the ideology of the self-made man."

I'm all for capitalism, as it has proved to be much better than most of the other ideologies we've experienced. It has allowed us to express ourselves fully. How else could we have reached the moon, created submarines, and travelled in hours instead of days?

No other system would've given us Steve Jobs, Harry Potter, Oprah Winfrey, Einstein, Freud, Jung, etc. and their effect on advancing humanity.

However, with capitalism and the push for more, incredible pressure exists on us and our choices to bring us closer to this ideal, fulfilled version of ourselves.

And yet, somehow, this fulfilment is always elusive—why?

Because we always live in the future and rarely stop to enjoy the present. The idiom 'to stop and smell the roses' is well-known because we all know that we don't take enough time to recognise the daily moments that bring us joy and see what causes that emotion.

We are constantly striving for more and hurrying to reach our next to-do, goal or achievement.

Sociologist Zygmunt Bauman says: "The horizon of satisfaction, the finishing line of effort and the moment of restful self-congratulation move faster than the fastest of the runners. Fulfilment is always in the future, and achievements lose their attraction and satisfying potential at the moment of their attainment, if not before. Being modern means being perpetually ahead of oneself, in a state of constant transgression… it also means having an identity which can exist only as an unfulfilled project."

So, if we always rush towards fulfilment, we will never experience it. And if we never experience fulfilment, we will continue to regard ourselves as inadequate, unfinished "products" and seek further self-improvement to realise our full potential.

I've been tormented for so long now about whether to live mindfully and in the present, ignoring that voice in my head that wants me to run, achieve, and show off my spoils of war, striving for future gains.

As I write this article, my mind is moving forward to finishing and getting to work by 9 a.m., even though I have no commitments before noon. 

I'm in the midst of something that I love to do, yet something inside me is telling me to hurry, as something urgent will come up at work. Nothing will.

I'm not present for what I'm doing nor present enough in most aspects of my life. However, during my midlife renaissance, I've learned that true satisfaction with oneself can only come in the here and now.

There are two opposites pulling at me. The self-actualisation I seek and the capitalist go and get them, be productive and achieve mentality.

I go from feeling guilty for not doing enough and unable to satisfy my ego's whims to dreaming of becoming who I must be—living with inner peace, solace, and curiosity.

And yet, deep down, I know that fulfilment can only happen in the now.

I also know that this struggle will not end with this article or with my new cold exposure habit.

And yet, the five minutes I spend in the ice bath are now the most peaceful, mindful, and enjoyable minutes of the day.