My Swimming and Sauna Routine
So, the pool has become my pseudo meeting room with self. I feel like it's where my best ideas happen. Once I've found my flow, my brain unlocks. Thoughts arrive. Problems unravel. Solutions float in. It's almost cliché and annoying how effective it is, like a 'shower thought'. And then the next 20 or 30 laps fly by and I've usually gone well over my target lengths lost to the rhythm.
It's something about that rhythm, the breathing, the stroke, the push and glide, that I find all-consuming in the best way. No distractions, no screen, and no sound except water. That focus gives my mind space to roam, the repetition becomes meditative and I feel connected to something.
I've contemplated bringing a pencil and paper to the side of the pool so I don't forget some of my ideas, but the image of me scribbling away like a madman at the end of a lane puts me a bit too far into the eccentric category than I'm comfortable with, at least right now anyway.
And then, there's sauna.
The pool in my town doesn't have a sauna (a whole other issue I'll come to in a minute), but a couple of times a week I drive twenty minutes to my nearest. Because honestly, I love it. The way your whole system resets - wow!
It was actually my brother who first got me into sauna in a serious way. After a 20/25 minute cook, my heart rate climbs high. You can feel it, that moment where all you want to do is get out—that's where you've got to stay put. Endure it a few minutes longer. Everything's working harder and the relief and recovery is incredible.
And then, the cold. You hit the cold plunge, and within three minutes, my heart rate drops by nearly 100 BPM. It's a full-body reset. That routine of extreme hot and cold does something incredible for your nervous system, your recovery, and more noticeably for me, mental clarity. It's not just theory; there's so many people and articles that talk about this stuff. If you've not tried it together, I really encourage you to.
But what surprised me most, though, wasn't just how good I feel after 2 or 3 rounds, but it's the sense of community. This particular sauna I go to, for whatever reason, has cultivated something really warm (no pun intended). People chat. People check in. Strangers talk about their lives, their work, the weather, their families. It's unforced and unpolished. People from different walks of life, different ages, different backgrounds, all just sitting there, connected by this simple ritual.
It reminded me how that kind of communal space is rare and valuable, and how I think many of us miss that kind of space to connect with people. And I can see why, beyond getting away from the cold, Scandinavian countries have saunas in almost every work and residential building. Sauna time is something people arrange with their friends, they'll bring beers along even, to hang out and catch up.
Community saunas are popping up everywhere. And now I'm on a bit of a mission: if you look at my Pinterest I've got whole board dedicated to saunas. I'm watching 'how-to' videos on Youtube. There's this one guy who is building what he calls a 'dirtbag sauna' made entirely from recycled pallets.
It's becoming an obsession, mainly because I want that closer to home. Not just for convenience (although, yes please), but because I believe spaces like this, where we leave our layers at the door, literally and metaphorically, where there’s no need to perform or posture, makes everything better. For our health. For our wellbeing. For our creativity and community.
My swim-sauna routine has become something I really look forward to. And maybe that’s the real takeaway: find the thing that grounds you, that pulls you out of the noise and into self. Whether it’s laps, heat, or simply showing up somewhere that lets you breathe.
Curate like nobody’s watching
For me, curation is way more personal than that. Noticing what you’re drawn to and be honest about it. Even if it’s ‘weird’. Even if it doesn’t make sense to anyone else and if it’s completely out of step with what’s ‘on trend’.
It’s choosing what stays with you. And not always what you share. That’s curation.
And I think that’s where a lot of people miss the point. Curation has become the trend and turned into something public. A highlight reel and a photo grid. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. But the kind of curation that lasts, the kind that shapes you, happens in private. You know, the stuff nobody sees.
I’m thinking about this now because I’m in the process of redefining the kind of work I want to do and be known for. And when you’re in that space, where things feel a bit undefined and chaotic, curation becomes everything because it’s one of the rawest forms of intentionality.
It's that feeling of standing in my metaphorical house, channelling my inner Marie Kondo and asking:
What do I keep?
What do I let go of?
What still feels like me?
What never really did?
I didn't realise this at first but that’s questioning your defaults and being intentional, because here’s the part people may not always recognise:
Curation isn’t just putting ‘good things’ together, it’s saying to whoever is watching or listening, 'this is what I care about'. And maybe more importantly, 'this is what I don’t'. And I’ve done a lot of that over the last few years.
That can be challenging when you work in creative industries that expect you to fit in, follow trends, and deliver what clients want. But if you’re always curating for others and gauging reactions, you lose the one thing that makes your perspective worth anything: you.
So when I say I’m thinking about curation, what I really mean is I’m reminding myself to like what I like. To hold onto it, even if it’s not fashionable. To trust that my taste is enough.
Build a world around you that reflects what you care about; in your work, in your home, and in how you live. That kind of curation is what makes great creative work.
So as I’m sit here, sifting through ideas, plans, and pitches for where I want to take my work next, I’m realising this is what I’m curating. Not just references, moodboards, fonts, photos. But my creative identity.
If people like what I curate, they’re welcome to join me on the journey.
But the curation part? That’s mine. It’s not performative or a trend.
And if you’re a creative trying to figure out how to stand out, or even just feel good in what you’re making, I think it starts with you.
Curate for you. And if people resonate, they’ll find it.
Waiting for the Invite: On Belonging, Patience, and the Creative Journey
As I carve out my career path, I find myself becoming more introspective and discerning about each step I take and I discovered something interesting:
Where I want to be, metaphorically, feels like a closed-door members club that is invite-only. You can knock on the door, but without an invitation, you’re not getting in. You wave at people through the window, and sometimes they wave back, motioning you to come closer. But unless you have that invite, the door stays shut.
What’s interesting is that there are many of these clubs. Every profession, industry, personality, and set of values is catered for. You can be an loud fashion photographer from East London who features modified cars in their work, there’s a club for that. Or a quiet, appointment-only perfumer, there’s a club for that creative too.
Sometimes these niche clubs intersect when their values align. And that’s where magic happens: those awe inspiring collaborations between people from different worlds. They are what shift culture and create conversation. It’s these moments that inspire generations of people.
I know which club I belong to. I know where it is. Right now, I’m still waiting on my invite while I wave to people through the window and they wave me toward the door. “I’ll see you inside,” they mouth.
These clubs are professionally incestuous: everyone works with everyone in the club. They run on referrals and word-of-mouth. Until you’re in, you’re not.
So how do you get in?
Patience. Perseverance. Belief in self.
It’s a long game, and it’s long because the people in the club expect and demand experience, expertise, and quality. All three of those are subjective, each club has its own benchmark, but none of them happen overnight. They take time to learn and earn, there are no shortcuts. Recognition takes time. And once that recognition happens, most importantly, within yourself, you begin the process of entry.
It’s about honouring yourself and your work by staying true to it. It’s about sharing what you do with the world, knowing it’s not for everyone, and that’s okay. It’s about building meaningful relationships with those in the club, your peers.
Your invite is already in the mail. The only thing left is to be ready when the door finally opens.