As it is with much of the world, it’s hot as balls here in New York. (I believe that is the meteorological term for it.)
Last night as I sat in my chair after a long day of work to relax with “Mr Bates vs The Post Office"—which I highly recommend for a good dose of righteous anger—I had a nagging sense that tonight might be the night to finally install the living room air conditioner.
My son hates the heat, so his bedroom unit goes in around May 1st. My attic bedroom gets treated sometime in early June. But I put off installing the living room A/C for one reason: The window it goes in is one of my cats’ favorite perching spots. (There are three of them, all rescues: Zane and Zelda, a four-year-old brother and sister team who live indoors, and Amir, my seven-year-old ginger cat who is an indoor/outdoor cat.)
Once the air conditioning unit is in, that’s the end gazing out at the deer and squirrels and grackles and mourning doves and sparrows and whatever ghosts they see that send them scampering in all directions with fluffy tails. At least until November.
Two years ago, I never did install the living room unit.
I kept all the fans going and I sat on my couch hugging the oversized ice pack usually reserved for my back flare-ups as I watched my favorite international detective series. I kept the fans going for the cats overnight. (They also have access to the enclosed patio, where it is much cooler in the evening.)
I felt so good about doing my bit for the environment by not running the A/C. Meanwhile, I spent night after night sweating like a pagan in church.
Then my son asked me a simple question: Why?
As much as I wanted to turn this heroic act of elemental endurance into some kind of life lesson for my kid, all my answers made me sound like the suffering martyrs of my parents’ parents’ parents.
The next year I installed the fucking air conditioner.
Yeah, so, last night it was hot. All the cats were indoors, lolling on the hardwood floors. I had a mind to grab my trusty ice pack and settle in. What’s the rush, I asked myself. It’s not that hot. Tomorrow will be worse. I’ll put the A/C in then.
But every time I considered grabbing my ice pack, I hesitated. Why should I get relief while my cats have to suffer because I’m too lazy to haul the air conditioner down from the attic and slap it in the window?
Now, this is not the typical rational Virgo-thinking for which I am so well known. It was pure, ancestral guilt that infiltrated my entire being—completely unconsciously.
The ancient pain message was this:
You don’t get to be comfortable while others suffer.
Were the cats suffering? Of course not. I’ve had cats my whole life. I know that they have a wonderful internal air conditioning system built into their fur that keeps them cool.
When I recognized I'd succumbed to this ridiculous edict that didn't even belong to me in this life, I laughed out loud. Holy crap, Rach. Really? Are we doing this? Are we buying the bullshit?
Oh, my ancestors grumbled.
In the end, we compromised. I acknowledged my deeply ingrained tendency toward martyrdom and brought it to sit close to me. We had a good chat. In exchange, I never got the ice pack, but by then it was nighttime and much cooler.
And today, after my morning walk, I installed the fucking air conditioner.
It’s incredible how deeply intergenerational messaging becomes part of the fabric of our psyches. How it lies in the darkened folds of our unconscious seeping into our daily decision-making. We don’t even know it’s there until we feel that tug of discomfort that we can’t quite put our finger on. (In my case, WHY do I have to suffer?)
Good to notice it when it happens.
Good to laugh.
Good to invite it in for a chat.
Good not to suffer when suffering is optional.
Stay cool, my friends.
xo RA
Love this. Ha! I hesitate to turn on the central air thingy on the thermostat for a million similar reasons and then spend the day grumpy and hot (and guilty, hearing my parents' and other relatives' voices in my head). One day, I took three cool showers and realized, all this extra water consumption is just as bad as running the AC, dried off, and turned on the AC to a relatively warm setting. It kept the house warm-ish, not like an ice box which I hate, but it cut the humidity down and, la di da, sudden I was less grumpy. And I slept much better.