Esalen is one of those places people reference in fragments. A myth. A footnote in the history of modern “wellbeing”. A whisper passed between friends.
The Esalen Institute is rooted in California’s history as the birthplace of the human potential movement. The founders, Michael Murphy and Richard Price, two young Stanford graduates, were inspired by the ideas of Abraham Maslow and Aldous Huxley, and created a space to explore radical ideas about freedom and self-actualization. Founded in the early 1960s on the cliffs of Big Sur, it has a storied history as an open field of exploration where psychology, spirituality, bodywork, philosophy, personal transformation (psychedelics in some decades), and social experimentation converged. For decades, Esalen has functioned less like a retreat center and more like a threshold: a place people pass through when they’re questioning, unraveling, or quietly re-orienting their lives. Its reputation isn’t built on outcomes or epiphanies, but on openness… to transformation, to experimentation, to becoming someone slightly more honest than before.
I didn’t arrive at Esalen with a big declaration or a breakthrough agenda. It came to me more quietly than that.
A whisper.
A tug.
The sense that it might be time.
I’ve been living in what I think of as a hallway chapter for a while now, much longer than I expected. A passage between what was and what’s still forming. For me, the past five years have been marked with creation and grief, momentum and disorientation, deep joy alongside real unlearning and unknowing. This has been a chapter of transition.
At some point in the past year, I’d begun to experience myself longing for the feeling of arrival. Ripe with desire to greet a new chapter. And at the same time, reckoning with the truth that arrival can’t be rushed.
That tension. Wanting what’s next, while knowing you can’t force it. That’s what finally pulled the thread.
Esalen had always existed at the edge of my awareness. Teachers referenced it with reverence. Somatic practices I already was familiar with had been shaped and embraced there (Gestalt Therapy, Esalen Massage; they also helped popularize yoga & meditation in the west). It felt iconic and elusive at once, part myth, part mirror. Much like lore about my favorite islands, friends’ stories were all vague and told with a twinkle in their eye. As I made preparations for my week-long workshop—”Healing Waters: Return to One,” hosted by Douglas Drummond—I let the cloud of mystery surrounding Esalen remain. Trusting that this is a place which reveals itself to you in time. Having all of the exposition up front is impossible. This is one that has to be felt.
Eventually, curiosity won.
And I decided to go alone.
The Arrival
I drove up from Los Angeles early in the morning, looping through Carmel (with a stop at the gorgeous historic La Playa hotel) and then down Highway 1. This was my first time seeing Big Sur. It’s impossible not to feel something on that drive. The cliffs. The fog. The way the road seems to disappear and reappear, hovering high above the sea, nestled in clouds. Pines and juniper and salt hang in the air. With the current road closures, Esalen feels almost like the end of the world. The road ends with a final turnoff marked by a modest wooden sign. Traffic thins. The noise drops away. You arrive with a soft exhale.
The Place Itself
Esalen is not glamorous.
It’s rustic, spare, and intentional.
It feels of the land rather than imposed upon it. Simple rooms. Weathered paths. Buildings that seem to lean into the cliffs rather than compete with them. Some areas have been thoughtfully renovated, but nothing feels glossy or overproduced. If you’re coming for luxury, this isn’t it. If you’re coming for depth, it might be exactly right.
(Practical note: if you need WiFi in your quarters, you have to book one of their most renovated king rooms, or a standalone cabin. I strongly suggest you don’t log on while you’re there, if you can avoid it).
The Rhythm of the Days
Life at Esalen moves around a few steady anchors.
Classes and workshops run on a daily schedule (all voluntary), meals are served cafeteria style at specific hours (all compulsory). Food is eaten communally in the dining hall (to sneak it back to your room would be inviting the curious raccoons into your space… there are always a few waiting for a snack).
The remoteness of Big Sur is a hallmark of the experience; there is no cell service. The only thread to the outside world, the WiFi, is shut off in the dining hall during meals. This is intentional. Here you talk with strangers, regroup with fellow workshop friends, journal or find yourself simply marveling at the landscape while you dine in quiet contemplation.
The food is much like Esalen itself, simple and nurturing. Some is cultivated here on the land, all of it is prepared with care by an ever-evolving team of volunteers. It’s not performative wellness food, it’s grounding, steady, enough.
The remoteness is disorienting at first. I felt the pull of checking a phone that was now rendered a paperweight for most of the day. The checking, the urge to reach outward instead of sitting with what was surfacing. Eventually, you surrender to the reality that there’s nothing to do but stay. Write. Walk. Listen. Be where you are.
The Baths
Yes. The famous baths are still there.
Yes. Most people are naked.
Yes. I was too.
Yes. I would recommend it.
The bathhouse sits on the edge of the cliffs, suspended between land and sea. It’s the social and spiritual nucleus of Esalen. A quiet wonder, and once you’ve been, it’s hard to imagine the place without it.
There are three small communal pools filled with steaming hot mineral-rich water, plus a handful of private tubs, all open to the elements. This is a watery place. The sea crashes below, the waves echoing up the cliff, mist hangs in the air, rain touches the pools during a downpour. Each hour is completely different depending on what the Big Sur climate brings. Open 24 hours a day, the baths have a rhythm all of their own.
I bathed in the mornings, early, around 6am, when the scene was very quiet. One day when the water was calm, I spent an hour watching sea otters eat breakfast and roll around playing with each other, while schools of dolphins swam past. Then the storms rolled in, the mist in the air hung so heavy that sitting in the baths felt like living in a place where the sky and the sea are one, meeting and dancing together. Nature really puts on a show here.
I bathed in the afternoon, in between workshops when my body needed a break. Feeling worn down, needing to process (or just to read a book).
I bathed at night, in the deep darkness. Pools full of new friends, all needing a soak after an evening dance session. Staying up hours later than anticipated, because what is time here?
Bathing at Esalen is a devotional act, one practiced by the community. Each in their own way, with their own evolving ritual and intention. The threads of each experience overlap, and healing dances with delight. How lucky are we.
As enjoyable as the baths themselves is the shower ritual. A communal room with one wall able to be totally opened to the sea. So heavenly I replaced my small, sad room shower with this one entirely for the week.
The Container I Chose
You can experience Esalen through self-guided time, or through a workshop. I chose a week-long container focused on embodied movement and collective practice.
I went all in.
As someone who has always moved (physically, geographically, emotionally), I’ve spent the last several years deepening my understanding of the nervous system and somatic healing. This workshop felt like the right next thread to pull. Especially during a period marked by new cities, new travel, shifting work chapters, and a quiet longing for rootedness and real community.
The work was intense. Tender. Sometimes joyful, sometimes heavy. There was grief I didn’t expect to surface, and support I didn’t know I needed. Rituals like a sweat lodge and a group cold plunge in the stream helped hold it all, making the hard parts feel possible. Hours were spent dancing, moving and feeling the waves of the Five Rhythms practice (see, more water… they say the three waters of Esalen are the hot spring water, fresh water and salt water… I’d argue you could add rain water, tears and sweat to this list).
The beauty of Esalen is that the pool can be as shallow or as deep as you want it to be.
I chose depth.
What I received in return was a simple, tender space to move in. It’s the harmony of all the rhythms here that makes the dance of Esalen.
The Land
Beyond the workshops, the land itself does a lot of the work.
I recommend morning walks through the property, when the dew still hangs heavy and the rest of the world isn’t quite awake. Lemon trees from the farm and gardens still laden with their perfumed scent. Sit on a bench overlooking the sea in contemplation. A cold, clear stream runs through the center of the grounds. This is perfect for a wake-up plunge before coffee, or recalibrating after dance.
There are many bodywork and healing modalities available. I booked a craniosacral session that came from Esalen’s own lineage, and it was the most subtle and powerful experience.
What I Took With Me
On my last morning, I woke early and soaked one final time at dawn. As I studied the hillside from my tub, I noticed a stalk of wild fennel nearby, hidden in plain sight all week long. A quiet wink from the universe.
Later, during a 7am massage (another treatment you need to try; the Esalen massage is an incredible mix of body and energy work), with the waves crashing below, sheets of rain falling above… I felt something settle.
I didn’t get a lightning bolt.
Or a dramatic answer.
More like a nod.
Something clicked into place. I was ready to return home.
I left Esalen with a simple knowing:
Healing and delight don’t have to be separate.
They can dance together.
And sometimes, the arrival you’re waiting for isn’t a destination, it’s permission to be exactly where you are.
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