It’s easy to overthink any situation. If we were to consider all the dangers at the start of the day we’d never leave our beds, never mind the house. We’d talk ourselves out of a solo swim, forgo the chance to recharge the batteries and keep the soul in order. The planned New Year’s dook would be postponed until the temperature got a wee bit more friendly — the dream of floating in a remote loch or tranquil bay surrounded by mountains and sky would seem unattainable, and a lack of adventure would gnaw away at the back of your head every time you glimpsed a peaceful body of water on the telly. Don’t get me wrong — I’m not saying to start living awe radge with no cares of consequence. I’m not advocating overcoming overthinking with an English channel attempt. I’m saying sometimes we have to be a wee bit pragmatic.

The schools were closed for Easter and to reduce time spent on tablets and Xbox controllers in my sons’ hands, we got out and about a few times. I’ll not pretend all the adventures ending at fantastic swimming spots was coincidence — that was entirely deliberate.

Apart from an afternoon at Dundee swimming pool where the boys showed little fear of the waterslides and diving boards and we jumped and launched ourselves into loads of chlorinated big laughs, the rest of the week was spent outside — including the Finnich Glen better known as the Devil’s Pulpit near Killearn and a wander up to Gilmour’s Linn a water fall up Touch near Cambusbarron, a great wee walk with a magical cold secluded dip. BTW, the CH in Touch is pronounced like “loch”, not like to feel something.

One of the best afternoons was the Elie Chain Walk along Fife’s craggy coastline — a series of eight chains fixed to the cliffs allowing safe passage up, down and round the coast. At the end we found a patch of grass for a picnic and rocks high enough to cause excitement, hopefully low enough not to cause injuries. The water temperature would be somewhere between 7 and 9 degrees — cold, but more life affirming than dangerous. After I figured out a safe way to climb back up the rocks we were ready to start launching.

My pal leaped in from a high ledge and howled like a deranged mad man as he re-emerged on the surface before rushing straight back out. He’s used to surfing in double or triple the water temperatures we get here in Scotland. I found a rock about two metres above the water, something I hoped my boys would go for. My pal was the only smart one who’d brought swimming shorts on the walk. My two boys and I were standing in the sunshine in our undercrackers.

I jumped in, climbed out, showed my sons it was safe, then jumped in again with another calm demonstration. I could already see their heads starting to overthink as I stayed in the water waiting for them to jump.

Let’s have a wee word about temperature. The clue is in the name — temperature, as in temp, as in temporary, its origins are Latin. That feeling of discomfort when you first hit cold water? It lasts moments. That’s it.

Analysis paralysis expands those moments into mountains. It inflates the fear, increases the dread of discomfort before you’ve even got changed at the lochside. Your mind is running rampant with thoughts of hypothermia and being face down in the water before you’ve dipped a toe in.

We are all the same but we are completely different — the next few mumblings don’t apply to everyone, but here’s what I know. We are designed to handle big temperature differences. We’ve got a remarkable inbuilt thermostat — it’ll start sweating to cool you when you’re hot, shake you warm when cold, and perform all kinds of magical biological mysteries from the moment you enter the water.

Below 5 degrees is bone numbing and really sore, but the natural high is worth every second of it. In the deepest, darkest, coldest months a very short dook will give you a massive smile and banish the winter blues. Above 10 is grand for big swims. In between is about pushing your comfort zone, even if that just means sitting in a foot of water as it gently laps about you — enough to soothe the soul and make you aware of your blessings.

All I know is my fingers and toes are still attached after years of very cold water. The discomfort passes. You will warm up and feel amazing.

So if it’s not temperature holding you back, it might just be fear. Fear is paralysing.

Since giving up chocolate and cider I find it hard meeting and talking to people. It’s really scary without that Batman mask of a sugar rush or the “on top of the world” attitude from four bottles of Henry Westons (vintage 8.2% apple juice). I would rather listen and watch than be part of some conversations. Risking life and limb grabbing onto a precariously knotted rope for a 50 metre zip line over razor-sharp jaggy rocks with no harness? Easy. Sober in a room full of strangers without the safety net of a bag of Haribos? That’s an effort.

Life seems easier with headphones inserted, tapping a description of a watery saga on my phone. Psychoanalysts will be able to tell me why when I am perfectly calm in the middle of a loch, bobbing about with only my face out of the water, but the thought of trying to hold a conversation with a bunch of folk breaks me into a sweat and why jumping from a rocky ledge into baltic waters is just as easy as posting descriptions of my family life and my innermost thoughts on social media but I balk at the thought of picking up the phone to tell one of my friends.

Back at the Elie Chain Walk, both boys had been in Touch Waterfall a few days before so knew what the water temperature felt like. My oldest jumped from the rocks with a wee bit of encouragement. My youngest son’s head completely buckled.

I was cold and shaking but we exhausted every avenue — jumping, stepping, just sitting with his feet in the North Sea. Nothing worked. I have watched this before, many times — the lack of confidence during the learning process, then witnessed him master the same activity with little effort once the fear has been dismissed. He is his own worst enemy and it breaks my heart watching that fear overtake him and reduce him to tears. Once he overanalyses anything he convinces himself failure is the only outcome. Riding a bike was practically torture. Snowboarding is still an ongoing battle — which is a shame as he’s pretty damn good at it once he stops thinking about it.

Staying calm and finding new ways for him to accept and gain confidence in his own abilities is frustrating, and more times than not you question if it’s worth the hassle. But retrospectively it’s one of the best bits of parenting — realising you’re not a crabbit, headstrong, shouty eejit dad anymore, and that you can make a difference to their lives by taking a quick breath and making a wee behavioural adjustment in yourself which in turn helps them.

His tears of frustration that day came from the fact he wanted to jump but couldnae make himself do it. He’s not alone in that — it comes up again and again on wild swimming pages and groups. Fear is universal. So is the smile on the other side of it.

If this story nudges any of you toward the water, please do it safely. If you’re a rubbish swimmer consider lessons first. Swim with company until experience tells you otherwise. Wear a bright-coloured swim cap so you can be seen and consider investing in a tow float so other water users know where you are.

Please swim safe.