Halcyon Floats

by Chad Gurdgiel 

‘Loneliness has followed me my whole life. In bars, in cars, sidewalks, stores, everywhere. There’s no escape. I am god’s lonely man. The days go on with regularity over and over, one day indistinguishable from the next. A long continuous chain. Then suddenly, a change.’ -Travis Bickle, 'Taxi Driver’

It is difficult to recognize that we are in a continuous battle with the idea of being alone. It often feels as if non-contact for even a few passing moments is just too much to bare. I think that we are battling with loneliness in ways in which we are not aware of. We seek to slay the loneliness dragon with constant activity. It is a nervous numbing of the mind that feels nice, and assists us in canceling out the notion of self. It is fun, and in no ways wrong—it is human. Even in a sea of over stimulation, we often seek more. We swipe right and swipe left looking for new ways to forget what is inside. This is by no means a reason to write off the human experience. Nor is it a reason to fully rely on outside stimuli to feel alive. There is a notion from the great Buddhist teacher Sharon Salzberg, that the beauty is in the return. The beauty is in that moment when we wake up and realize that we are distracting ourselves. That moment when we realize that we are forgetting to breathe–when we are forgetting to be alone with our inner dialogue. The beauty is in that moment where we make the conscious decision to bring ourselves back. I often have these awakening moments of clarity as I am speed walking through downtown Philadelphia. With my eyes to the ground and a coffee in my hand, I painstaking judge the people in front of me for not walking fast enough. As if I have anywhere real to be. Perhaps this is just mechanism to ignore inward thinking while in transit. If I am lucky enough in that moment, I will get a quick flash of clarity—a reminder to bring my attention to my step. Even as I write this, I am stroking my facial hair, tapping my hands to my knees, picking up my phone, checking the time, looking at my inbox, and occasionally biting my nails. I constantly forget. Even at our best and most elated, our anxious tendencies are there to distract us from the present moment.

Over the past 17 months since Halcyon welcomed our first floaters, we've been fortunate enough to see a big change in the acceptance of floating. Early on we filled our tanks with fans of Joe Rogan, John C. Lilly, and brave folks that just wanted to try this new weird thing. Now, if you were to ask me how I'd describe our demographic, I couldn't. And that's a good thing. The city of Philadelphia has really taken to floating. Evidenced by the two Best of Philly, and three Reader's Choice awards we've won. The tanks did most of the work for us, but the staff around the tanks worked incredibly hard to get people INTO them. I spent a lot of time asking myself how to get an east coast city to stop moving for 90-minutes at a time. A number of things worked in our favor.

1. Keri. 

2. The staff she built.

3. A great article written by Nick Vadala at Philly.com (You can read it in our 'In The News' section).

4. Best of Philly.

5. Philadelphia Union.6. Preston & Steve.

A series of events brought Keri to a float tank, and the tank provided relief from the ills of the east coast hustle and bustle. So when she started Halcyon Floats, she was already viewing it through the scope of the people she would be offering the service to in Philadelphia. She didn't open Halcyon Floats specifically to offer the consciousness exploring, ego-stripping, psychedelic experience that is so loudly touted in the float community. Those things became secondary to just offering a break.

The staff of Halcyon have varying reasons for using float tanks. From managing chronic back pain, to managing the wear-and-tear of being a competitive athlete. Every staff member uses floating in a different application, but every single one of us are passionate about it. That gave us the biggest advantage. In my opinion the most important part of a float center (with the exception of the tanks), is the staff member leading you into your first float. Having a relatable staff that had all the same concerns about claustrophobia and sanitation has been the biggest asset to removing stigmas and growing our #floatfam.

Last year, Nick Vadala wrote a great "every-man's take" on floating with a perfect click-bait headline. There is no question that article influenced some people to come in that would have never considered it before reading. I know that, because I was answering the phones the morning it was published. Shortly after that we were given Best of Philly awards for Best Mental Detox and Best Excuse to Unplug from Everything. We were building legitimacy.

In July of 2014, we were contacted by Kevin Miller. Kevin is the strength and conditioning coach for the Philadelphia Union. We've had the incredible fortune of building an awesome relationship with the Union and their use of floating to keep their bodies fresh gives us an example of the physical benefits that we can share with our clientele. It's been a great tool, and we are forever grateful for The Union. Thank you!

When I was a little kid, I learned a lesson about Band-aids.

Here’s a story for you.

I had a big wheel when I was a baby nerd-linger, about 4 or 5 years old. It looked like this.

It was a one-seater, but if you were a child innovator like myself, you could take the back support off completely and fit two adventurers on the thing at once, so the both of you could tear ass down the street renegade style on these things, basking in the glow of the Northeast Philly sunshine. This was kind of unsafe, and quite frankly, a little dumb, so naturally, this is what I would do ALL THE TIME.

One day, I was the “back seat” rider. I was a good sharer and wasn’t above letting my friends drive the big wheel. Or maybe I was being chauffeured, I can’t really remember. Anyway, the two of us were riding at max big-wheel speed down Morrell Circle when my bum slid off the back of the plastic death-cycle only to ride and skid another 10 feet or so causing a monstrous tushy road rash.

At this point my memory gets a little blurry, but I seem to recall seeing some stars and maybe a bright light drawing me in at the moment of impact. That’s a lie actually, all I remember after that is that I had the world’s biggest piece of gauze taped to my butt. I was allowed to go back out and play after that as long as I didn’t get too sit-happy for the rest of the day.

Fast forward to a day later when we had to change the dressing on my big-wheel burn. It was the worst! As if taking the thing off wasn’t bad enough, covering it up really didn’t do me any good! It felt better while the Band-aid was on, but nothing really healed. It was a quick fix so I could carry on with the days shenanigans, but in the long run, it might have actually made things worse, as I could have benefitted from resting my buns and letting the healing powers of Great Northeast’s air work it’s magic.

Anyway, I didn’t let my parents put on another bandage. I threw a hissy fit and stayed off the boo-boo for a while. No big whoop.

But by now you are probably wondering, why is the owner of a float spa in Philly telling me this story about her childhood butt injury. Well, kind reader, it’s to relay the valuable lesson I learned that fateful day in my youth: sometimes, Band-aids are no help.

​​Here I am as a kid with a Band-aid on my face.

It’s not my butt, but close enough.

It sounds silly, but I took that idea on as a philosophy in my life. I mean, there are ouchies and boo-boos abound on this magnificent journey, we can be hurt in many ways, and often. And there are all kinds of Band-aids - food, alcohol, cigarettes, reality TV - things that keep us from finding the real solution. Things that we rely on, often times subconsciously, to make us feel better, to “help” us through.

And that was all well and good when you can identify when and what we are putting a “band-aid” on. The thing is, it’s hard to get to the bottom of things when regardless of what issues are going on, the rest of the world keeps spinning, and there you are with the gravity of it all. At least as a kid you have parents there with a bandage, and there to blame when there solution doesn’t work and your butt falls off.

As an adult, it’s all on you, and there is really only so much Ben and Jerry’s that you can consume before you realize you are really just burying yourself and your issues in empty, environment friendly, ice cream containers.

Recently, I have been using floating as a tool to help me find answers to the issues I’ve addressed with “Band-aids.” Since I opened the shop and have had mostly unlimited access to these amazing tools,SXLLM​​ and with out getting too personal (this is the first blog after all) I’ve been able to explore my mind, heart, and soul. It’s taken some time, but anything worth doing does. When you are by yourself, free from outside non-sense (because that’s all it really is), you can begin to see and hear your inner voice cry for help. I’ve been able to be vulnerable, to be afraid and brave, to surrender and learn. Even more, you can hear the answers, the consolation. When I am in the tank, I am able to drop my armor, and seek out wounds. I’m in there to assess damage, open myself up for true healing.

So there is the connection to my butt story. I’m on a mission, float fam. I’m on a mission to be better, to put a lesson to work, to grow. No more burying issues. No more unnecessary Band-aids. And no more, I repeat, no more cry-eating ice-cream.