Full body sigh

- Jul 04, 2025

One morning, many years ago, my father succeeded in getting my brother and I out of bed on a fresh Saturday morning, which was no easy feat: we were both big sleepers (I still am). We didn't make his planned departure time of 7am by a margin. Why the early start? He was taking us fishing on Lake Geneva.

It was a hot July, and yet out on the water, the air was fresh and fragrant. At the time, Lake Geneva wasn't particularly clean. Its water was opaque, and while I delighted in being aboard a sailing boat, I rarely ever jumped into the deep, dark water below, regardless of how much I love a good swim. It probably didn't help that I almost drowned in the same water when I was just a toddler.

That morning, there was something about its odour that triggered me: I love the smell of the lake. After a summer rain or during an algae bloom, it takes on a faint earthy or organic note, and these are rare and fleeting.

I got so into it that, sitting as I was on the decking of the boat, I started to breathe in deeper and deeper, so much so that I hyperventilated and had to lie down, as my head had started spinning. Let's be honest, I didn't catch many fish that day. But that moment is etched in my memory. Scent, in particular, lingers.

Yesterday, I recorded a new episode of Out of the Clouds, fresh from my recent celebration of our fifth anniversary. My guest, Karen Salmonsohn, is a multi-million selling book author, who I was connected with before the upcoming release of her next title, Your to-die-for life.

Part of what I enjoy about the show (but what makes it a labour of love) is getting deep with my research. For each episode I put in between two and five hours across podcasts, social media, blog posts and books of course. What inevitably happens is that I end up having a mini-masterclass with my guest. And yes, today, I am already changed by the reading and my conversation.

In the book, Salmonsohn takes the premise that being reminded of our finitude, we can live more intentional and enjoyable lives, thus minimising regret and amplifying our enjoyment of the small moments that can otherwise go unnoticed. The author, in her trademark sassy and easy to read style, delivers prompts, reflections and a-ha moments, some of which have moved me into a change of perspective. Salmonsohn's premise echoes the Buddhist practice of maranasati - mindfulness of death - which teaches that contemplating our mortality can paradoxically make us more alive to each precious moment.

You know - if you read me regularly - that I'm knee-deep in business planning, podcasting and preparing the upcoming launch of a community platform for Le Trente.

What you don't know is that I'm not going on holiday this summer. In parts because of the September launch, but also because I have to get under the scalpel toward the end of the month. I'll be convalescing for most or all of August. And I LOVE summer. Reading in the sun. The dolce farniente. Playing tennis. Frolicking in the water. Paddle boarding. Etc. etc. etc.

For weeks, I've talked myself out of going to the lake and taking a break. There is so - much - to - do!!! Right. Yes, that's true. And I am so motivated to do it all that I've squashed my desire for a hang by the beach.

My conversation with Salmonsohn, and a read through her book (quick though it was), prompted me to revise my position, if not, my priorities.

And this morning, instead of going to sit up at my desk after breakfast, I laced up my trainers, filled my favourite canvas tote with water, towel, sunscreen, and off I went, to my favourite and conveniently closest swimming spot, Les Bains Des Paquis.

The lake was waiting for me, and the crowd was thinning, as school kids are already on their holidays. A spot was even open on the wooden board, so I flung my gauze cotton dress over my head, kicked off my shoes and nearly sprinted to the water. Full body sigh of relief.

As I swam across the water, enjoying the view as much as the company of a young duck and moorhen, I stared down to the bottom of the lake. Today it's crystal clear, in places reminiscent of tropical waters, though its temperature remains alpine adjacent.

This clarity struck me — this was the same lake that once held such opacity in my childhood, the same water I feared after nearly drowning as a toddler. The transformation was profound: where once the water was murky and uninviting, now I could see straight through to the bottom. The concerted efforts of conservationists had restored it to a thriving habitat, its scent now fresh and clean, subtly evocative of its natural surroundings — no longer the stagnant, earthy notes I remembered from those summer mornings with my father.

The lake had changed. I had changed. Nothing stays the same — not the water, not our bodies, not our summers. This is the teaching of impermanence made visible, made swimmable. Each stroke of my limbs through the clear blue-green body of water invited a meditation on presence: this lake, this morning, this body that can still dive and swim and feel the delicate chill against my skin. When I think about it, swimming often does that to me. I just have to remember to go and… have a swim. How precious this moment is. How many more moments like this? The question isn't morbid — it's liberation. It's what brought me here instead of leading me to my desk.

A conversation about death, joyful though it was, had reminded me to be mindful of death. I knew this to be good for me, it acts as a key that unlocks our unique capacity for joy, or enjoyment.

How many more summers do we have ahead of us? What kind of summers will we have in the future? No one really knows. As death doula Alua Arthur reminds us in her powerful TED talk from 2023, we must "eat the cake" — choose the sweetness of life while it's here before us.

For me, that cake isn't actually cake. It's the cool embrace of lake water on a July morning, the company of a young duck paddling nearby, the smell of my tropical sunscreen, the caring act of choosing joy over productivity, when it matters, while we can. It's honouring what I love — summer, swimming, the juicy ripeness of July — even when my to-do list shouts otherwise. Especially then.

I am a summer lover, and whether that means jumping in crystalline water or savouring those delightful flat peaches, I can work hard and still make space for these fleeting moments. My morning swim was my version of eating the cake — a full-bodied yes to being alive, right now, in this precious and impermanent body.

Remember death to remember life

Maranasati teaches us that remembering death helps us remember life. Today, I remembered.

I hope this will help you remember, too.

For those interested in exploring ​maranasati​ (mindfulness of death) practice, I highly recommend the teachings of ​Nikki Mirghafori​ through the Insight Meditation Society. Her guided meditations offer a gentle, profound way to work with these themes.

And do watch​ Alua Arthur's TED talk​—it might just inspire you to eat your own version of cake.

Lastly author and meditation teacher ​Tara Brach​ also has some beautiful guided meditations about contemplating the end of life, and looking back. You can find one at the end of ​this podcast/dharma talk,​ particularly illuminating when it comes to helping us put personal conflict in perspective.

Find out about Karen Salmonsohn's upcoming book right ​here​.