Diving into Stillness: My Journey Inside a Sensory Deprivation Tank

However, on the day of my appointment, I found myself battling with the dreary winter weather—37 degrees and drizzling. A lingering desire to stay bundled under the covers weighed me down as I arrived at the float center. Still, I thought to myself that perhaps a transformative floating experience would change my mood—if only there weren’t a million pounds of Epsom salt awaiting me in the isolation tank.

As I checked in, the friendly staff member enthusiastically shared the various benefits of floating, emphasizing relaxation and potentially even inducing lucid dreams. Standard sessions typically last 90 minutes, although he assured me that I could choose to float for longer if I desired. “Some guests even opt to sleep in the tanks instead of booking a hotel room,” he said, almost nonchalantly. I couldn’t help but shudder at the thought of awakening in such a dark, weightless environment, though I maintained an outward enthusiasm.

I was faced with two floating options—a rectangular room filled with about ten inches of water or a sleek, sci-fi-style pod. While both promised isolation and buoyancy, the pod’s enclosed design intimidated me, prompting me to choose the rectangular room instead. The facility included showers and calming blue lighting, though I felt more like a test subject than someone indulging in self-care.

Although the online instructions had promised all the essentials, I found only a towel and earplugs waiting for me. According to the staff, these earplugs were crucial for protecting my eardrums from the intense saltwater. I resigned myself to the fact that I’d be leaving with damp, tangled hair, as my personal shampoo was far from the tank.

Floating in a Sensory Deprivation Tank

At last, I stepped into the sensory deprivation suite, feeling the saltwater envelop me almost instantly. The buoyancy was impressive—my body floated effortlessly on the surface, offering a surreal sensation of weightlessness. Yet, my mind was flooded with memories of a creepy Netflix show I had seen, which involved a partially submerged room and unsettling imagery. Allowing thoughts of this to fade, I slowly began to embrace the potential relaxation.

For about ten minutes, I managed to drift into a state of calmness, redirecting my attention to finding that elusive deep blue light often encountered in meditative practices. Even though the water was slightly chilly, I felt I was beginning to acclimate, opening the door to deeper levels of tranquility.

But then, the serenity was quickly interrupted when my body unexpectedly made contact with the wall, pulling me back to reality. I pushed off and began to enjoy the gentle ricochet effect of my movements, though one of my earplugs dislodged, allowing a trickle of saltwater to sneak into my ear. Sitting up, I acknowledged the awkwardness of my situation—naked and curled in a small, wet room. I felt less at ease than I had hoped.

Perhaps if my mindset had been different, or if this location had offered a more natural setting, I would have enjoyed it more. My inner critic weighed in, fueled by a lifetime of sci-fi stories and my skeptical nature. I hesitated, wondering if my experience might improve simply by changing my thoughts or gaining a better perspective on meditation. In the end, I suspected it wouldn’t alter my enjoyment.

Not wanting to appear overwhelmed or defeated, I lingered in the lukewarm water for a while longer before finally exiting the tank and returning to the shower. By the time I warmed up and rinsed off, the ambient music began to play, signaling the end of my floating adventure.

“How was it?” the attendant asked, with a knowing look in his eyes. I smiled, running my fingers through the damp knots in my hair, and replied, “So good.” He nodded knowingly, which left me pondering the further possibilities of memberships at this establishment. Eager to escape back to dry land, I left with my sanity intact, content to continue my meditative journey elsewhere.