Some people travel for the food.
Others for the nightlife.
Some travel for work.
Others travel to get away.
I travel for the swimming.
I mean that’s not really why I travel–I’m usually on the road because I’m giving a talk or I have a meeting–but if I am on the road, what I am looking for is somewhere to swim.
Believe it or not, I actually planned the Stillness Is The Key book tour around cities that had cool athletic club pools. In 2019, I swam at the Olympic Club in San Francisco, the Washington Athletic Club in Seattle, the basement pool at the University Club in DC (I prefer the William H. Rumsey Natatorium near the Library of Congress), the New York Athletic Club overlooking Central Park and the Denver Athletic Club, too.
I once accepted an offer from my Dutch publisher to speak in Amsterdam on the condition that they show me a good time while I was there. And by that I meant, to their surprise, that they’d find me a cool swimming pool. (I am in Toronto, Vancouver, London, Dublin and Rotterdam in November. You can get tickets here…or give me some swimming recommendations).
It was Robert Greene who first got me hooked in 2007. I grew up on swim teams but had fallen out of the habit in favor of running. When I started working in Downtown Los Angeles for American Apparel, he told me to join the Los Angeles Athletic Club because it has one of the greatest swimming pools in the country. It’s one of the oldest athletic clubs in the country (1888!) and the pool they built in 1912 is an engineering marvel–8 feet deep, six stories off the streets below, beneath a glass atrium and chandelier you’ve seen in a million movies and never known where it was from.
But the real secret, he told me, was their reciprocal benefits. I will never in my life be able to afford (let alone be invited) to join the New York Athletic Club…but for like $100 a month, my membership to the Los Angeles Athletic Club got me in the door. (To be clear, it’s a back door…they make us plebes use a special staircase so as not to touch the regular members).
Swimming laps at the Los Angeles Athletic Club
It was also Robert who told me that the ocean rock pools in Sydney were bucket-list-level good more than 10 years ago. I was blown away on my first trip there in 2013–I think I accepted the speaking gig just to have an excuse to go. This summer, I brought my family for my two talks in Sydney and Melbourne and crossed a bunch off my list.
I’d already done Icebergs and Bronte and Clovelly but this time I also squeezed in South Curl and North Curl, Manly, as well as a short swim at Cook and Philip Park and the Melbourne Public Baths.
Over the years and hundreds of thousands of miles on the road, I’ve seen some amazing pools and ponds and swimming holes and lakes. Hampstead Heath. Balmorhea. Yrjönkatu in Helsinki (where you have to swim naked). The Biltmore in Downtown LA. Gellert in Budapest. Sydney’s Olympic Pool. Badeschiff (a pool floating in the River Spree). The saltwater pool at the New Orleans Athletic Club. The Venetian Pool in Coral Gables. Swimming against the current and the billowing Texas rice plants in the San Marcos River. Slide Rock in Sedona. Lake Tahoe. The Blue Hole in New Mexico. Jacob’s Well. And countless streams and oceans and bays and hotel pools and public parks.
But why? What’s so special about swimming?
Sure, it’s low-impact whole-body exercise and it’s good for you to be active, but I consider all that as a bonus.
What I love about swimming is that it’s one of the few places on Earth where screens can’t reach you. My phone doesn’t ring. My eyes can’t wander to the big TV playing CNN or CNBC the way they do at the gym. My eyes can’t wander at all actually, they stay locked at the bottom of the pool or the pond, ‘prisoner of the black line’ to paraphrase Joni Mitchell. It’s just the rhythm of kick, stroke, breath over and over ahead in a kind of wonderful, active meditation.
I forget whether it was at the 24 Hour Fitness off 35th or the YMCA off Town Lake in Austin, but someone came up to me once and said they were reading my book Ego is the Enemy. I said thank you and laughed, telling them that I’d written a good chunk of the book in that very pool. They were surprised but it’s true, just like when I run, I’m amazed at the words that pop into my head when I have gotten up and left the computer to do something other than writing. And because I can’t immediately write it down, I have to run the phrases or the idea through over and over again…often forgetting my lap count in the process.
Oh well, I guess I’ll just have to keep swimming.
It’s not the only problem I’ve solved in the pool. I’ve had investment ideas. I’ve planned difficult conversations. I’ve gotten over grudges. I’ve calmed down. I’ve gotten much-needed space.
I remember waking up early one morning in Los Angeles, while on the book tour for Stillness Is The Key. It was the day I was supposed to find out whether I’d hit the bestseller lists…or not. Glancing at the home screen of my phone, I could see there were texts from my agent and from my editor. I knew they could either be congratulations or condolences, but instead of checking, I took the elevator down to the 6th floor and swam for a mile. It was just another ordinary, rewarding swim.
I came back to the room and found out that not only had I hit the New York Times Bestseller list for the first time, but I’d debuted at #1. It was wonderful news but I was prouder of that little act of discipline that preceded it–ignoring the phone, insisting on that stillness. And if I hadn’t hit the list? I’d have been glad for the wonderful morning swim all the same, glad that I hadn’t ruined it.
It’s fitting, too, because I wrote in Stillness Is The Key that there are few better ways to settle yourself in the present moment—to wash away the distractions and the noise and the troubles of everyday life—than through being in or around water. More specifically, natural water. There’s just something about it. The sight of it contrasted against the environment it’s in. The sound of it. The feel of it closing in on you once you finally take the plunge.
Sometimes I think that half the victory of swimming is just that–the initial jump or dive in. The payoff is different depending on the season. In the summer, Barton Springs in Austin is a welcome relief against the heat. But in the winter–Robert and I once went on a snowy Austin morning a few hours before I got married–the reward is different. The aliveness creeps back into your body as you shiver to get warm, invigorated by doing something so crazy.
It was actually that abrupt entrance into a cold body of water that drew Seneca back to the Tiber River year after year. A self-proclaimed “cold-water enthusiast”, Seneca “celebrated each new year by taking a plunge into the canal.” Seneca couldn’t have known any of the since-proven health benefits of a cold plunge. He wasn’t competing or on a swim team. He wasn’t going down to the canal to literally clean himself, but he was starting the year clean. Even better, he was starting it with a challenge.
Water played a big role in Marcus Aurelius’ life, too. He liked to spend time in the many bath houses across the Roman Empire, where he’d wash off the dust of everyday life. In Budapest, you can still sit in baths that draw from the same thermal pools that Marcus would have used.
In her incredible book, Why We Swim, Bonnie Tsui discusses the human inclination toward water and uncovers the deeper instincts that pull us to it. When Bonnie came on The Daily Stoic Podcast (it’s one of my favorite episodes, you should definitely give it a listen), I asked her to share a discovery she made while writing the book that stood out to her, even as a lifelong swimmer and water enthusiast. “I loved learning about how we are biologically driven to respond to certain set points in the environment—that our brains love to be near water and blue spaces,” she said. “We love immersion and the feeling of physically being in water because our brains produce more alpha waves—those wavelengths associated with relaxation, calm, and creativity—when we are merely listening to or looking at it. There is a benefit to both body and mind to get in and swim.”
For all of these reasons, swimming has been a predominantly solitary practice for most of my life. But as I’ve gotten older and have a family of my own, it’s become something we all do together. In the last month alone, we’ve done the Blue Hole in Georgetown, Landa Park in New Braunfels, Barton Springs, Deep Eddy, and Krause Springs. At first, the kids are hesitant to jump in, maybe a little intimidated by a rope swing or a diving board. The same goes for us as parents, only the night before. How will the day go? Will it be a disaster? Isn’t there a bunch to pack up?
But after they, after we, work up the courage and do it? Well, you’re always glad you did.
I guess that’s the real message of this post–to pass along the wonderful habit that Robert Greene gave to me all those years ago. It made my life better and I bet it will make yours better, too.
