The Craziest Place I’ve Ever Been

Everyone has that one story they only pull out at dinner parties after the second glass of wine—the “you’re not going to believe this, but...” kind of tale. For me, that story starts with a decision as ill-advised as hiking in brand-new leather boots but ends in a memory so bizarre, it swirls in my mind like a painted desert sky: why, exactly, did I go on a first date inside a sensory deprivation tank?

You wouldn’t think an artist from the high desert would voluntarily lock herself into a pitch-black pod filled with body-temperature saltwater, aimlessly drifting in a void that (spoiler alert) feels a little too much like being a lone tumbleweed rolling through life. But it happened. And it was, without a doubt, the craziest place I’ve ever been—emotionally, existentially, and possibly hygienically. Here’s how it went down and why, looking back, I wouldn’t change a thing.

Blame It on the Kombucha Guy

The whole thing began as a result of one of Santa Fe’s signature pastimes: pretentiously long conversations at the farmers’ market. He was the vendor of artisanal kombucha—bearded, effortlessly charming, and all kinds of mysterious. You know the type. His hands always seemed perpetually sticky from honey, which, for reasons I couldn’t quite explain, I found adorable.

After exchanging small talk over tangy samples of lavender-ginger brew, he asked me out to dinner… or so I thought. In hindsight, I realize I agreed to something a little less conventional.

“How about instead of dinner, we meet at Float Spa on Friday for a session?” he suggested. I laughed because I thought he was joking. Who floats for a first date? Apparently, kombucha guys do.

By the time I figured out he was serious, my pride prevented me from saying no. I was determined to prove I was cool enough, experimental enough, and zen enough to float—with a stranger, no less.

Sensory Deprivation—or Modern-Day Awkwardness?

Let me paint you the scene: Float Spa was a minimalist oasis tucked into one of Santa Fe’s adobe complexes, complete with white walls, soothing flute music, and a receptionist who spoke exclusively in whispers. I arrived early, as I always do (thank you, overachieving Virgo tendencies), and immediately felt ridiculous. What do you even wear on a float date? Turns out, no one mentions that because you don’t wear anything. Spoiler: A float pod is glorified naked bonding—but alone.

Kombucha Guy arrived looking as serene as a river rock and immediately launched into how floating could “open neural pathways.” I nodded with the intensity of someone pretending to understand quantum mechanics. His enthusiasm was cute enough to distract me, though tiny alarm bells were faintly ringing in the back of my mind. Still, I thought, what’s the worst that could happen? In fairness, I’d soon find out.

Inside the Pod: Where Time—and Logic—Cease to Exist

Once in the pod room, I was handed earplugs, a towel, and what could only be described as a beginner’s guide for floating bliss. (Step 1: Shower. Step 2: Ease in. Step 3: Surrender.) That last one felt loaded. Surrender? To what exactly? I wasn’t sure whether I was prepping for a meditative experience or an episode of Black Mirror.

I climbed into the pod tentatively, my date in a separate room having his own existential encounter. The water’s salinity carried me almost immediately to the surface, and for a brief moment, it was … nice? Quiet. Otherworldly. Then, the thoughts kicked in.

Why does my neck feel weird? Am I floating wrong? Oh God, did I lock the door? Does Kombucha Guy expect post-float conversation while I’m still prune-y and half-naked under a robe?!

The sensory deprivation was supposed to quiet my mind, but instead, it turned it into a Taylor Swift breakup album on a loop. Every awkward first-date scenario gallivanted through my head. Does he think I’m spiritual enough for this? Did I mispronounce chakras earlier? For 60 minutes, I marinated not only in salty water but also in self-consciousness.

When You’re Floating, There Are No Mirrors

When the session ended, I rinsed off and padded out in a plush robe. Kombucha Guy was waiting in the spa’s little tea lounge, sipping cucumber water like a monk who had just achieved nirvana. (Side note: Why do guys always emerge from weird wellness experiences looking like they’ve just had all their chakras aligned while the rest of us look like damp cocker spaniels?)

“So, how was it?” he asked, grinning.

What I wanted to say was, “Surreal, awkward, mildly terrifying, and possibly the longest hour of my life.” Instead, I blurted: “Great! Definitely opened some neural pathways…” (Listen, sometimes you have to float the lie to get through.)

To Kombucha Guy’s credit, he was sweet and forgiving as I babbled about the experience in a little too much detail. The heightened insecurity, the weird neck tension, the sneaking suspicion I might not be zenned enough for floating as a lifestyle. He nodded thoughtfully, then confessed his first float had also been a catastrophe—but with less existential dread and more saltwater accidentally in his mouth.

What I Learned from Floating—and Why It’s a Metaphor for Dating

Here’s the thing about sensory deprivation tanks: They strip away more than just light and sound. They strip away your mental armor. It’s just you—raw, floating, with no distractions. Kind of like dating, huh?

If floating taught me anything, it’s that every date invites a certain level of vulnerability. At some point, you have to be willing to drop the performance (yes, even the pseudo-spiritual chatter about neural pathways) and let the real you exist in the space. And if you overthink everything and spend the first hour like a neurotic mess? That’s okay too. Vulnerability is messy, and authenticity often sneaks in right after the mess.

It didn’t work out with Kombucha Guy—shocking, I know. We parted ways amicably after a drippy post-float hug. But that experience revealed more about myself than I could have imagined. Who knew I’d be the kind of person to laugh at my own awkwardness in a saltwater pod? Who knew I’d learn to embrace it?

Empowered by the Float

So maybe your wildest first date wasn’t in a sensory deprivation tank. Maybe it was a salsa-dancing class where you stepped on your partner’s feet 73 times or a driving range where you accidentally let go of the club mid-swing. Wherever it was, I bet you learned something about yourself. About resilience. About the ways your nerves transform into magic once you relax into the moment.

If you’re feeling brave, I encourage you to try something on a date that feels unconventional—whether that’s an art gallery scavenger hunt, fencing lessons, or, yes, even a turn in a sensory deprivation pod. Because here’s the truth: The craziest places we go—physically or emotionally—are the ones where we discover who we actually are.

And you might just find that being your untamed, gloriously imperfect self is more than enough.