I think it might be almost time to mourn the passing of my air conditioner. Hopes had been high that the aged unit would last through the summer, but the end could be soon. It's gone kerplunk again. The last time it went kerplunk was April. Those two episodes are a little too close together for comfort.
Last night just after dinner, I thought I felt a warm draft. It was coming from the vicinity of the vent over my head in the kitchen. When I went back to the bedroom, I noticed the same strange, warm draft. I went upstairs - where the vents are in the floor and I can reach them (hush - I'm a shrimp), and put my hand over one. And then I swore like the most experienced variety of sailor.
Following my swearing fit, I zipped into high react mode: I went online and booked a hotel room. Packed up my gargantuan Lululemon tote with overnight supplies, my laptop, and a couple of DVD's ("Yoga Unveiled" and "Pretty in Pink"), then jotted right off to cool, air-conditioned comfort. And don't get me wrong - I enjoyed myself immensely. It was an adventure. A knee-jerk reaction-fueled adventure, yes, but an adventure nonetheless.
While at the hotel, I swore up and down I would be staying until the air conditioning was repaired. And then I remembered a couple of things; first, that I like to camp, and while camping I do without air conditioning. Second? I practice power vinyasa yoga in a ninety degree room, and LOVE it. The temperature in the house rarely exceeds the eighty to eighty five degree range when the air conditioning decides to take a breather. So, really, why the hell did I need a hotel room?
I didn't. I went to a place of reaction rather than response, and dashed to a hotel when taking a settled moment would have had me *respond* to the situation as I did this morning - which meant going to the nearest mega-discount emporium and purchasing some kick-butt fans. (I even bought a small one for Totsi the Dog to have by her bed.) The fans cost much less than the hotel, and honestly, now that I have the right equipment this is actually *fun*. More fun than, say, packing willy nilly and driving off to hang out in a hotel. By responding, I'm giving a sucky situation space to grow into something enjoyable and out of the ordinary. By reacting, I blew a hundred bucks.
So here's to responding rather than reacting - I'm chilling in in a cute black maxi dress, sipping a cold beverage from a mason jar while watching my dog savor the breezes on her belly from her own personal fan. Since I'm right in front of the equivalent of a wind machine, sometimes I whip my head around and pretend I'm an early 80's supermodel, just because I can. As much as I've explored the difference between reaction and response through inquiry and endless journal entries, I think this experience has driven said difference home better than any amount of intellectualizing and soul searching.
Enjoy your Monday! I think I'm going to locate my file of recipes for the grill, start a loaf of bread in the bread machine, and make some Red Zinger sun tea. In other words, I'm going to keep right on responding.
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