Almost three weeks ago, at 10 AM on a Friday morning, I spent 60 minutes in a sensory deprivation tank—or float tank or isolation tank, many names for it. It is essentially a large container, some fancier than others, with a foot of water and 1,000 lbs of epsom salt—enough to make your skin feel quite slimy to the touch. But like a small, dark, enclosed Great Salt Lake, the salt allows you to effortlessly float on the surface of the water, which is the same temperature as your skin and the surrounding air.
The idea of a float tank is that without sights, sounds, smells, gravity, or bodily sensations, the user can more easily find a calm, relaxing state of mind void of distractions and incessant thoughts. Research studies have shown benefits of muscle relaxation, increased optimism, and decreased pain, stress, and anxiety. I would also imagine a factor leading to the rise in sensory deprivation popularity is the daily onslaught of outside stimuli we face today, much of which now comes from our smartphones. People want an escape, and they’ll pay for it too.
I’m not a person who meditates regularly, as much as I’d like it to be part of my routine. Sometimes when my heart’s racing or I’m feeling particularly scattered, I’ll close my eyes for a few deep breaths, but that’s about it. I found that the float tank accounted for all the variables which can make meditation frustrating, and provided my mind a shortcut to a more pensive, worry/anxiety-free state.
It took about 5-10 minutes of finding a comfortable floating position and to stop making contact with the walls, but after that I was able to lose myself for 10-15 minute stretches of time. After each period of what I can only call a meditative state—not asleep, but not really thinking about anything—I would come to and re-realize what was going on. I was pleasantly surprised by the element of fun, enjoying the novelty of weightlessness and lack of physical sensations. Although I knew the tank wasn’t big enough for my body to rotate more than about 20 degrees in either direction, that didn’t stop my mind from feeling like, at times, I was being spun by solar winds in the pitch-black vacuum of outer space.
Time was a tricky phenomenon in there. I had the rational part of me that desperately wanted to keep track of how long it’d been, and then the rest of me that needed to forget that Time existed at all. And does it? At what I assumed to be about the 40-minute mark, I admittedly started to get restless. I knew a full hour was ambitious, but I didn’t let myself out early. For the last 20 minutes, I appreciated the free solo performance by my stomach, ominously reverberating through the water to my plugged eardrums. (I recommend eating a little something before hand)
Once finished, you’re able to shower and dress in the same room as the tank, completing your spa-like experience. The first time fee was $45, and $60 per session after that (varies on location), so it’s not the most sustainable practice depending on one’s budget. But if you try it and find that it does work for you, it could be viewed like a monthly massage or acupuncture, or any other self-care routine.
Immediately upon leaving, while I walked to a nearby coffee shop, I experienced a persisting lightness to my body and clearness of mind. Nothing radical, but definitely noticeable and pleasant. For the next two days I observed myself exuding gratitude, constantly reflecting on how lucky I am to live in a place with a long-lasting close-knit group of friends, and sending text messages that were almost over-the-top friendly. I couldn’t help but chuckle at some of the emojis I used. I’ll leave you with the poem I wrote while sipping my coffee and watching the Idaho Street world go by, an hour or so after exiting the tank.
I gladly welcome any stranger or foe
To share this iced, cold Americano.
Jackson passed me by, yellow-dress girl didn’t even look.
Why, oh why did I not bring a book?
Thank you for reading and have a lovely Thursday :)
-Kyle
Good, simple, clear writing, Kyle.