Crisis, what crisis? Ten minutes in Richard Wiseman's room and you’ll wonder what all the fuss is about
Times Online
October 21, 2008
Will Pavia
Never mind that winter is almost upon us, that we may already be in recession and that we are all fractious, glum and late for our trains. Today, for all of us, salvation is at hand.
A British psychologist has developed a panacea to lighten the darkening mood. In a campus on the edge of Hatfield, Hertfordshire, Richard Wiseman claims to have created the most relaxing room in the world.
The space brings together the lessons of many years of scientific research on how to relax a human being: there is soft matting, the scent of lavender, diffuse green light and gentle music. Every evening this week frazzled bankers, pension fund managers and all those beaten down by the worries of the world can visit this magical room and find peace.
Professor Wiseman will measure their responses, make modifications according to their demands, and show-case his room as a must-have facility for businesses and schools.
Yesterday the professor held a preview, for students at the University of Hertfordshire and various jumpy members of the media. As I arrived, Professor Wiseman was putting the finishing touches to his room. “I have never been so stressed in my life,” he said.
Half an hour later he stood at the entrance to his room, backlit by its green and blue light, the sound of a woman’s voice rising and falling gently behind him, accompanied by a string ensemble and a Tibetan singing bowl. “The music is continuous, there are no sudden changes - from an evolutionary perspective, change is associated with danger,” he said.
The scent of lavender would stimulate beta-waves, relaxing our brains. “People have looked into all these different elements before,” he said. “But no one has put them all together. We are looking to see if, all together, they will make you super-relaxed.”
Six of us took our places on mats on the floor. Suki Thiara, 22, a marketing student, was worrying about finding a job next year. Tobi Alli-Usman, 21, was worrying about his events management business and his degree. I was worrying about the global financial crisis, and whether I had bought the wrong kind of screws for some shelves I was hoping to put up.
The music was euphoric, the green light soothing. A smoke machine periodically blew white clouds above our heads. It felt as if I were lying inside an advert for green tea.
“Am I relaxed?” I wondered. My heart was throbbing at 86 beats a minute, but after a few moments staring into the blue it dropped to 74. I even considered loosening my tie.
Ms Thiara said: “I feel like we are sinking away from everything. I am floating away like an angel.” Mr Alli-Usman put his thoughts in order. “Now I can pick out the things to focus on and it doesn’t seem as if there is so much to do,” he said.
I was unconvinced at first. Later I realised that I had not once thought about the global financial crisis, nor the crisis surrounding my shelving unit. I left, wondering where I might get a nice cup of green tea.
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