Note from Louisa

​Teachers can be found in every aspect of our daily lives. I’ve recently noticed that there is a rich trove of lessons in simply paying close attention to my complaints and disappointments, the times when the world fails to meet my expectations. Like many of us across the country as of late, these complaints have often centered on the extreme heat and whether we experience physical comfort in the face of soaring temperatures and humidity.
 
Our air conditioner decided to go on strike on Father’s Day. It was a sweltering day if you’ll recall, temps were in the mid 90’s with the heat index hitting 99 degrees. It was not a big surprise as no A/C in production has ever registered its protest at a convenient time.  
 
Our older home was built for cross ventilation, if only there had been a breeze. The thermostat on the sleeping floor registered 101. The emergency service was overwhelmed with other striking units throughout the city, and we decided to tough it out. We enjoyed the gifts of air conditioning during our Father’s Day celebrations at a local restaurant and movie theatre and then headed home with some trepidation to face the sticky, endless, humid night.
 
That’s when I began to observe what I’m calling “comfort creep”.  
 
When my house was built over a century ago, air conditioning was not a thing, and furthermore, layers of modest, heavy clothing were a thing, even in the summer months, and especially for women. Complaints about the heat were not fueled by some comparison to refrigerator worthy temperatures to maintain comfort. The heat simply was something one dealt with.
 
I, having grown accustomed to a certain degree of comfort, feel quite entitled to always be in a state of gratification. Cool in the summer, warm in the winter. And, like most modern humans, if I cannot make some adjustment to rectify my discomfort, no matter how minor, my mind begins to travel to some ugly places. 
 
What is the cost of comfort creep, I wonder? Are we less resilient, more anxious, more irritable when the conditions we live in can’t be quickly modified to serve us? How does this apply to not only my physical discomfort, but my emotional and psychological discomfort as well? How do I refrain from falling into a constant state of complaint or disappointment, or buy a first-class ticket on the “catastrophizing train”?
 
Let me be clear. I was under no real threat. There are many throughout the country for whom the lack of adequate cooling is a life-threatening phenomenon. This is not the case for me. I was just warm. And pouty. Yet, as I observed the mind, feeling helpless in the face of even minor discomfort, I began to spin many a tale about other possible threats.  
 
I survived my toasty night. Of course. And I came out of it with a little better understanding of my own nature. Turns out, I can survive a night of sticky, poor sleep and function relatively well. Turns out that I have newfound gratitude for the ways in which my needs do get addressed, but only if I am mindful of that abundance.
 
This is not a proud admission, knowing how many of our fellow humans are chronically doing without true necessities with little hope of respite. I cannot imagine the resilience it must take to live unhoused or without food or proper medical care, or any other of the true challenges that people face daily. Being a little hot and sticky, tossing and turning for a night on the couch is not a true crisis. It is a conditioned response for which I am trying to offer myself compassion and from which I am hoping to learn.
 
I proposed to my family a regular sojourn into discomfort so that we can reset our expectations and remember our own fortitude. So far, no one has taken me up on this, but I’ll keep trying.
 
Blessings on your journey, 
Louisa