Several months ago (in November…) I won a free float at the float house courtesy of the CEOs of the company that I work for. For months and months I put off going. Why? Because I was terrified. Terrified.

Look to the left. That is what a float tank looks like. Here’s the concept. The water in this tank is filled with an epsom salt solution so that when you lay down in the water you float. You are meant to lay back and completely surrender to the water. Trusting that it will hold you… for an hour and a half.

You enter the tank, close the door behind you, and float in complete silence. No external stimuli whatsoever. For 90 minutes, time does not exist. While I lay in the dark, counting my inhales and exhales, my brain attempted to calculate time in terms of thoughts. Thoughts that pricked and stung and dropped like dread or elation into my stomach and chest.

I felt impatient at times… but I wasn’t sure why. I wondered once whether something had gone wrong. Perhaps Brad, at the front desk, had forgotten to set the timer. What if I had been laying in this tank for three hours… or longer. I felt the impulse to exit the tank to check my phone, but I resisted. I wanted the full experience. So I surrendered to time. I attempted to stop micromanaging my existence: Separating time into quarters and seconds.

Instead of swimming in silence and in wonder, I swim in numbers. I believe that time, in its numbered form, is a vulture. Circling above you…watching as you attempt to live. There are more numbers. I’m thinking about age, calories, weight, miles, income, grades, value and love. Because love too holds the danger of only being measured in anniversaries.

Is time really so negative. In the deepest parts of my subconscious I think I’ve always felt that it was. Afterall, it’s always holding us back from dates and appointments and a future that is both too far away and occurs to quickly. But perhaps this reputation exists because of the rules that we place on time. Instead of allowing tasks to be done in the time they require, we imprison ourselves in eight hour work days. We rush toward completion, but completion is such a small speckle in a life. The diploma, the degree, the oscar… none of these matter if you didn’t learn something along the way. I’m afraid to wonder if this is rare.

While in acting class I surprised myself by blurting out “I’m afraid that even if I were to get what I so desperately want, I still wouldn’t be happy.” Why? Because worse than allowing my life to be controlled by time I allow my life to be controlled by fear. By “odds.” Because what are the chances that you could stand out as an individual. What are the chances that you could live the life that you want. So few people have the luxury of enjoying their lives. So don’t get your hopes up that your existence will be any different.

Anxiety slithers up my spine like a parasite. Fear and time together, joined forces, paralyze me with words like experience, worth, skill and achievement. Too old to dance. You must start at 5 years old. We place so many rules on ourselves and on our ability to experience happiness.

As I floated I wondered about all of these things. I wondered about my fear to look another person in the eye and to allow myself to be seen. I thought about my hesitancy to fight for what I want. More than is comfortable to admit, I’ve fought to lose instead of fighting to win.

Fear makes life pass by quickly… turning life into a memory before it was ever lived. Fuck you fear. Fuck you time. I refuse to be afraid. I refuse to be your prisoner.