I live in a suburb outside a big city: it takes me an hour and a half by public transit to get downtown. That means a lot of reading, podcasts, and avoiding alcoholics on subways. Over the years a recurring topic for me has been hearing Joe Rogan talk about isolation tanks. Very quickly, for those of you that don’t know: it’s an enclosed tank filled with water and hundreds of pounds of salt. You go in there to meditate, relieve stress, and tension. It has various benefits and tons of people who really stand by it. The people that seem to enjoy sensory deprivation tanks really love it. There doesn’t seem to be any middle ground.

I’ve always been interested, but never really had the opportunity until now. Isolation tanks have been around since the 70s, but they’ve grown in popularity in the past couple of years. To give you an idea of what I mean: in 2009 when I first heard the concept there were about 2 places I could go to, both really far way. Eight years later, now there are about 5 places downtown Toronto alone.

I booked 3 float sessions at a place not too far from me with decent reviews. With taxes it came up to around $150. That’s $50 a float. As the son of a couple of immigrants, I always feel dumb when I spend money on stupid shit. And that’s coming from a guy that has silk bedsheets that cost half a grand, and a fucking Siberian cat that cost $1500. There’s a guilt in my heart I have spending money unnecessarily I’ll never be able to fully come to terms with.

$150 to float in some water with some fucking salt? What the fuck is wrong with me? “But it’s for my mental health and overall wellbeing,” I told myself. And I always wanted to try it…so fuck it. As I entered my credit card info and hit submit, I imagined my Daniel Plainview-looking great grandfather milking a cow, drinking moonshine, and smoking rolling tobacco. I told him what I was about to do, and he calmly said, “Huh. I don’t get it…But there’s a lotta shit you do I don’t get. I don’t know what the internet is. I don’t know what social media is. I’m not sure what it is you’re looking for, but if you must: go ahead. Life is meaningless either way.”

Before getting to the location, I first had to endure the total opposite of the peace an isolation tank is supposed to bring: I drove through shitty summer traffic, parked my car, and headed on a subway with exhausted smelly people ignoring each other and heading to jobs they hate in order to upkeep lives they don’t care for.

When I got to the tank place I was greeted by a friendly Russian dude. He explained the set-up, I signed a waiver agreeing not to hold anyone responsible if I died, and letting them know I didn’t have any serious illnesses, etc. I didn’t read all of it, but I remember one part that made me laugh said, “By signing this you are claiming: you do not have AIDS. You are not menstruating. You are not pregnant.” What if someone lied about all 3 of those and spread AIDS, killed a baby, and (more importantly) ruined a whole tank?

I sat in a serene waiting room filled with yoga mats and water with slices of fucking lemon in it. While music that sounded like Enya played softly in the background I waited patiently while thinking about dying babies, AIDS, and period blood. After a moment, a beautiful girl came out of one of the rooms smiling, glowing, and happy. She was wearing a red dress that reminded me of Cameron Diaz at the beginning of The Mask - a scene that was a very prominent part of my childhood. She smiled at me and wished me luck with my floating. I thought, “Wow, if this is what the world of floating is like, I could get used to this shit. People are so friendly here!” The Russian guy asked me to take a photo of him posing with the beautiful girl in front of the entrance to the place, saying it was for their Instagram. (I checked out their Instagram page later, and didn’t see the picture. So I can only presume the photo was for the dude’s personal use).

Anyway, after a quick shower, and putting in the earplugs I set foot in the tank. Immediately, my first thought was, “This is it?” It was like having sex for the first time, or watching The Godfather. After years of hearing about it in pop culture I had all these expectations, and the real thing just could not compete to whatever was going on in my head. Initially, for about the first 5-10 minutes I was briefly disappointed. I started thinking about all the things I could’ve spent the money on instead. A couple bottles of bourbon. Dinner. A decent half hour with a hooker. And then I started moving around, trying to get comfortable in the fucking thing. I am a bit of a control freak; I was struggling to adjust to the notion of water and salt fucking my gravity up. Then I thought about how stupid I was trying to fight gravity and control shit, so I just kinda lay down and tried surrendering myself to the experience.

As the session went on I became more and more relaxed. My brain gradually stopped thinking about trivial matters (where I parked my car, people I hate, money, how I can’t control time, etc). Eventually my brain sorta drifted and I thought about all the stuff in my life I need to, rather than the stuff I worry about for no reason. And then my thinking went a step further, beyond thinking about anything at all; I had a waking nap. It was pretty cool: no noise, no phone ringing, no worrying about shit. It’s like I forgot about my own body, and my life on earth, accessing a different part of my brain I forgot existed.

This peace only lasted for a little while, however, because the control freak aspect of my personality “surfaced” (haha, see what I did there? Because I’m writing about floating. GET IT? DO YOU GET THE JOKE?) again. I ruined the progress I made and started worrying about stupid shit: “What if I’m not doing this right?” Then I started getting pissed off that I could see a little light outside of the tank door, and then I fucked myself over and got out of the tank to take off the lights in the room. Then I took a piss, and got back into the tank. I tried getting back into the reality I had just discovered, but I had ruined it. I was relaxed, but the deep level I had achieved was fucking ruined by the worst aspects of myself. My short attention span, worrying about stupid shit, etc. I learned that you can’t really force a good float, you just have to lie there and let it happen.

When I was leaving the place, I felt the second wave of benefits everyone usually talks about. I felt fully rested, and had a clearer mind. Like the morning after a really good sleep when the espresso kicks in after breakfast. It kinda reminded me of after you cum: it feels like a huge burden has been lifted from you, and your focus on other things is now 100% better. And my back felt like I just shed a fucking backpack full of textbooks. At first I didn’t really think there would be much of a difference between regular meditating at home and meditating in the tank, but re-entering reality I understood what people were talking about. As I walked back to the subway, instead of hating people I saw and assuming the worst about everyone, I found myself slightly more tolerant of the same people I’d normally not care very much for. I had the greatest sleep that night, and the day after floating my thoughts were still a lot clearer than usual.

The Russian guy told me the second float is usually the best for most people. I’m hoping to go back soon.