The Mindful Case for Cold Showers

“What can you gain from only expecting good experiences?” — Steve Armstrong, Meditation Teacher

I. The Downside of Comfort

Most people know, at some level, that their lives are limited by the size of their comfort zones. Life rarely offers reward without first subjecting us to discomfort, so if we can’t tolerate discomfort we can’t lead rewarding lives. Unfortunately, by relentlessly shaping modern life to suit our desires, we’ve lost much of our ability to withstand discomfort. Because we seldom need to forego food, shelter, entertainment, or social contact, we’ve become accustomed to overly comfortable lives. Though this might not sound like such a bad thing—after all, who doesn’t want to be comfortable?—our attachment to comfort causes much misery.

Most routes to happiness are strewn with uncomfortable experiences. For instance, we cannot work hard, break bad habits, learn new skills, or forge authentic relationships without first braving some discomfort. The link between discomfort and happiness might not be obvious to some readers, so to better appreciate it, consider the trait of willpower. Willpower, which is possibly the most reliable tool we have for bettering our lives, is simply the ability to forego immediate pleasure in hopes of future reward. To exert willpower, we must abstain from acting on our impulses, which, as we all know, is an uncomfortable experience. When confronted with an impulse (such as the urge to stop reading this essay and open a new tab), we cannot exercise willpower unless we’re willing to weather discomfort until the impulse passes.

However, we in the modern age are accosted by so many impulses that we can’t help but indulge them, all the time. Whether we’re peeking in the fridge after dinner, checking our phones to alleviate slight boredom, or fiddling with the thermostat to get the temperature just right, trivial comforts are always close at hand. And by frequently seeking refuge in modern comforts, we’ve lost our ability to tolerate discomfort, which has crippled our capacity for happiness.

Many people think that capitalism, consumerism, and alienation from nature are the great blights of modernity, but they’ve cast the net too broadly. The real curse of modernity is the fact that our affluence and technology have turned us into comfort junkies with willpower in short supply. Thanks to the modern age, we live at the base of a mountain range of potential experience, but most of us lack the willpower to even find a trailhead. Instead, we retreat and remain huddled in our safe, stable, comfortable lives.

II. Comfortable Habits

Of course, I’m exaggerating a bit. Some people can tolerate discomfort, and often go on to lead stimulating and rewarding lives. And most of us understand, if only implicitly, the link between discomfort and happiness. Pursuits that put our minds at ease, such as running, weightlifting, yoga, or meditation, are often quite unpleasant, but because they offer great reward we voluntarily take part.

Whenever we seek to better our lives, we are, at base, battling our innate preference for comfort. Whether we’re hoping to quit smoking, lose weight, overcome anxiety, or even learn a new musical instrument, we must first be willing to face discomfort head-on, standing strong in its presence until it passes.

To improve behaviour, we must improve our habits. But since habitual existence is where we’re most comfortable, deviations from habit inevitably cause discomfort. This makes evolutionary sense: if a habit works, it’s best to be cautious before trying new things; there’s no need for unnecessary risk if you’ve already secured life’s necessities. Unfortunately, this means that we cannot forge new, better habits unless we relinquish the comfort of habitual existence. And since better habits are the way to a better life, an ability to tolerate discomfort is a valuable resource indeed.

Therefore, many of us have been pursuing happiness with the wrong approach. Instead of constantly seeking respite in comfort, we should seek to build a better tolerance for discomfort. If we could better handle discomfort, not only could we carve out deeper sources of satisfaction, but we would also suffer less when discomfort enters our lives (as it so often does).

Many schools of thought have recognized the wisdom in relinquishing attachment to comfort, from Buddhism in the East to Stoicism in the West. We would do well to incorporate this wisdom into our own lives, but to do so we must first appreciate how our desire for comfort underlies so much of our suffering. Though we tend to ignore the relationship between our desire for comfort and the experience of discomfort, upon closer inspection it’s clear that these are actually the same phenomenon. As we’ll see, our craving for comfort is itself the cause of our discomfort.

III. The Wrong Approach

What is discomfort? At a glance, it seems to be a mixture of unpleasant bodily sensations and emotions. But this is not quite right. Discomfort is not an intrinsic, unpleasant part of experience, but actually arises from how we relate to experience. Discomfort forms when, in the midst of a given experience, we agonize over our desire for conditions to differ. In other words, discomfort occurs when we crave a more comfortable state of existence; absent a craving for comfort, discomfort does not arise.

To get a handle on this somewhat subtle distinction, imagine two cases. In the first, you are on an island beach on a hot, sunny day. Your face is warm, sweat glistens on your forehead, and you’re chatting with the good-looking person next to you. Life is good. In the second case, you are inside a hot restaurant on a first date. Your face is warm, sweat glistens on your forehead, and you’re attempting to chat with your good-looking date across the table. However, you’re starting to get frantic: have they noticed the sheen of sweat on your face? Is it too soon to return to the bathroom for a splash of cold water? Why is it so damn hot in here? In this example, life is not good—it’s fairly uncomfortable. But why? It’s not due to the bare sensations, which are the same in both cases. Rather, it’s because in the second example, you wish that the sensations brought on by heat would go away. The desire to be less hot has consumed your mind, forcing you into a state of discomfort. If you could stop craving some ideal, cooler, more comfortable state, your discomfort would vanish and you could enjoy your date as much as a day on the beach.

Once we understand this catch-22 of comfort-seeking—in which the desire for comfort is the very cause of our discomfort—the logic behind ascetic practices starts to make more sense. After all, if our incessant quest for comfort will only leave us wanting, perhaps we should take notice of those who claim to have transcended the desire for comfort altogether. Although I do not advocate strict asceticism (clearly, some level of material possessions and social relationships is healthy), an ascetic perspective can help us recognize the futility, if not outright harm, of perpetual comfort-seeking.

Our relationship to comfort has much in common with an addict’s relationship to drugs (of the bad kind). In both cases, the more we indulge, the more prone we are to suffer withdrawal. As we habituate to comforts, we not only suffer in their absence, but need more of them to feel satisfied. And because we’re so reliant on them, comforts that began as luxuries all too often morph into needs. This ‘comfort-addiction’ is the result of our tendency to use comforts not simply as luxuries, but as modes of escape.

When we’re uncomfortable, our initial impulse is to find comfort. Though this seems reasonable, it is often the wrong approach, for two related reasons. First, by thinking that we should always be comfortable, we actually make discomfort worse. The above example illustrates this, showing how anxiety arises from our desire for comfort. If we could accept whatever we happen to feel—be it heat, sweat, blushing, a rapid heartbeat etc.—then feelings of discomfort would not arise, no matter our physical symptoms. If, however, we try to wish such symptoms away, discomfort only gets worse.

Second, by habitually indulging in comforts we shrink our comfort zones. As a result, we get uncomfortable more often, impelling us to seek more comfort, which further shrinks our comfort zones. In the modern world, where we can consume comforts without any moderation, our comfort zones have become claustrophobically tight.

Of course, when discomfort signals that something is wrong, such as an illness or injury, it’s important that we act on it. But more often than not, discomfort merely signals the absence of some modern-day luxury. Given that discomfort is an inevitable part of life, we’d do well to stop running from it. By learning to tolerate it, we can learn to improve our lives. And while many ways of building this tolerance exist, one stands out above all others.

Cold immersion, which is one of the most uncomfortable things a person can do, teaches us to experience discomfort differently. Immersion in cold water thrusts the reactivity of our mind to the forefront of consciousness, forcing us to bear witness to our base, archetypal stress response. Through this practice, we can learn how to stand alongside stress without trying to push it away. In this way, cold water can teach us how to view discomfort with composure, draining it of its power.

IV. Cold Composure

To the uninitiated, subjecting oneself to cold water seems like one of the worst things imaginable. Not understanding its benefits, most people view its surge in popularity as a cultish fad, an annoying display of superficial masculinity. But cold immersion is simply a form of exposure therapy, except instead of exposing ourselves to a specific anxiety—such as public speaking or spiders—we expose ourselves to the stress response itself.

Cold water triggers a primal, universal stress response, replete with an accelerated heartbeat, muscular tension, and, above all, an urgent desire to escape to more comfortable conditions. This response is present, in some form, every time we get uncomfortable in daily life. Therefore, if we can learn to deal with it when up against cold water that could (eventually) kill us, we can better deal with more trivial stressors.

As explained, discomfort is a kind of illusion, in that the sensations that we mistake for discomfort set off a cascade of thoughts, and it’s these thoughts—rather than the sensations themselves—that cause us to obsess over our perceived plight. If we could stop our self-pitying ruminations long enough to pay direct attention to the sensation of discomfort, we’d soon find that there’s no discomfort in sight.[1] By remaining immersed in cold water, thought slows to a point where we can merely witness the sensations that we previously mistook for discomfort. Essentially, cold immersion teaches us to pay attention to our stress response without the associated anxiety. This is a liberating learning experience.

Many activities can reduce stress, such as exercise and meditation, but don’t necessarily train us how to deal with stress. Even if we’re halfway through a ten-kilometre run or a one-hour meditation, it’s quite possible that we’re wishing to be elsewhere. While running we might wish to be finished so that we can eat a greasy meal, or while meditating we might wish to be feeling less pain and more bliss. In such instances, though we’re reducing stress by expending energy or sitting in silence, we’re actually reinforcing our attachment to comfort by craving it. As such, we’re not learning to deal with stress, but are merely pushing it away.

Most pursuits, no matter how difficult, can be carried out while our minds wander to greener pastures. Generally, we have no clear way of knowing how skilfully we’ve been applying attention to the present moment. However, immersion in sufficiently cold water does provide a clear external indicator of success. That is, as long as you remain immersed, you can be reasonably sure that you’ve curbed your craving for comfort (even if only slightly). The initial shock of cold sets off such an avalanche of frantic thought that, were you to let yourself get swept away by it, you would immediately leave. It takes a level of awareness—rarely required in daily life—to overcome the urge to crawl to shore or turn the shower to hot.[2] Therefore, by simply remaining in the cold you are learning to overcome the need for comfort, which causes so much suffering in life.

Once you’ve made it through the initial shock, the urge to escape subsides.[3] At this point thought slows down, freeing you to focus on the feeling of your body, which gets pulled into stark relief as a humming, buzzing, mass of sensation. When caught up in anxiety, we tend to ignore the bodily sensations that sent our minds reeling. But in the cold, we have the opportunity to remain aware of these sensations without struggling to escape them. Thus, cold immersion teaches us to bypass the flight-response that leads us to try, always in vain, to flee from our own internal state.

V. Risk, Reward, and Meditation

Some readers will have noted that cold immersion has much in common with meditation, as both promote a reduction in thought, heightened body awareness, and an ability to witness (rather than react to) stress. And though the practices differ in method, both cold immersion and meditation can teach us to give up our need for comfort. Therefore, the question might arise: is cold immersion an adequate substitute for meditation? For people who have neither the time nor inclination to meditate, a few minutes of cold immersion per day could be of great benefit. But for those who already meditate, cold immersion should be seen as a supplement to, rather than substitute for, meditation.

Although the meditation community likes to stress the importance of not judging one’s practice, in reality there are better and worse ways of meditating. Many meditators spend hour after hour, or retreat after retreat, without ever learning how to let go of their craving for good experience. These people often become meditation addicts, hoping that if only they meditate more, they might eventually achieve lasting bliss. And unfortunately, such an attitude is all too easy to develop after discovering meditation. Because it calms mental chatter and occasionally produces fantastic states of mind—both of which are quite pleasurable—quiet minds and psychedelic experiences can come to seem like the whole point of meditation. But the real power of meditation comes not through specific experiences, but through learning to give up the feeling that one needs specific experiences in order to be happy.[4] Because cold immersion forces one to develop this very skill, it can encourage a more skilful mindset during meditation.

So, if cold immersion has such potential, why not trade in the meditation cushion for an ice bath? The answer here is twofold. First, just as cold immersion encourages more skilful meditation, meditation encourages more skilful cold immersion; used in tandem, these practices make for a potent learning experience. Because meditation teaches us how to pay attention to experience without obsessively ruminating, it can help us bypass the explosion of thought that flows from initial contact with the cold. By bringing a meditative mind into cold water, we can more easily pierce through anxiety to see how the raw sensations of stress actually pose no problem at all.

Second, meditation is safer, so can be performed more frequently. Whereas a person can meditate for hours without issue, most people can only handle a few minutes of cold immersion per day. Any longer, and there’s a risk of hypothermia, tissue damage, and circulatory problems.[5] (The worst symptom I’ve ever experienced has been two hours of a white, tingly finger, which came back to life after a hot shower – a minor inconvenience, so I consider the risk well worth the reward).

*   *   *

History is an unending flight from discomfort. And although we’re fortunate to have escaped many of the miseries that plagued our ancestors, we’re now cursed with minds overly accustomed to cushy existence. Whereas past generations regularly had to face discomfort head-on, gritting their teeth and emerging stronger on the other side, we attempt to sidestep discomfort whenever possible, turning to modern medicine, media, or telecommunications to alleviate any hint of pain, boredom, or loneliness. But by hoping to abolish discomfort completely, we ensure that we’ll never succeed.

Most people know, logically, that discomfort is an inevitable part of life. But experientially, we fail to accept this fact, and our desire to flee from it compounds our suffering. If we can learn to witness discomfort without fighting it, we weaken its hold on us, bolstering our ability to lead stable, satisfying lives. I won’t pretend that this is an easy skill to master (far from it), but it is invaluable for anyone hoping to lead a rewarding life (which, I assume, is all of us). So, the next time that you find yourself struggling to leave your hot shower for the lukewarm existence of daily life, why not take a deep breath, turn on the cold, and feel what happens?

Practising what I preach!

[1]If you’ve ever stubbed your toe and caught yourself before you start screaming in pain, you’ve likely noticed that the pain is not quite as bad as you initially thought. While it’s still painful, the fact that you slowed your ruminating led to a slight reduction in suffering.

[2]Although full immersion in a cold lake or ice bath seems to work best, cold showers provide a great training ground.

[3]I wish I could convince the reader that this is the case, but I’m actually not sure why the mind settles down. If you remain unconvinced, go try it for yourself – but remember, you must stay in long enough to sample the reward!

[4]As I said to some people after my last retreat, if you’re going on retreat in search of ego dissolution and boundless bliss, you could save yourself much time, pain, and effort – and get a more reliable effect – through… other means.

[5]If you plan on getting into cold water, I recommend gradually working your way down to colder temperatures, as sufficiently cold water is potentially fatal.