The ups and downs of sleeping with the windows open

Turn off the A/C and live a little

I’ve already discussed various reasons why I love summer. It’s clearly the best season. If you don’t believe me, just wait. I’ll prove it in a future post. In fact, I could spend the rest of the summer just explaining what’s great about summer. But I’m already worried about summer passing me by, so I can’t waste that kind of precious time.

However, I do want to explore one of the great joys of summer: sleeping with the windows open.

I grew up mostly without air conditioning, so I spent many summer nights sweating on my sheets, with a fan spreading the hot air around the room. Box fan or oscillating fan, it didn’t matter. Their performance was equally subpar. Relief seemed impossible.

But I’ve lived more than half my life with air conditioning now. Twelve-year-old me would think that I’ve grown soft, turning on the air conditioning some nights instead of toughing it out on those hot nights that are so humid it feels like you can swim in the air. And he’s probably right. But I do keep the air off and the windows open for most nights in the summer, reserving the air conditioning for only the hottest nights.

And as much as I enjoy having the window open while sleeping, there are definitely ups and downs. The following thoughts are typical of nights spent with the window open.

Just before bed: It’s less humid than it was earlier. I’m sure I’ll be fine. Is that a breeze? What direction is it coming from? Yeah, it should cool off just fine. I’ll just lie on the sheets with no blankets and it’ll be fine.

As I lie down: Should I close the blinds and pull the shade? If you’re going to do that you might as well close the window. If you want to sleep with the windows open, then sleep with them open. Besides, what are the chances that someone’s just going to meander by and look in your window?

Ten minutes later, just as I’m dozing off: I feel like someone is watching me. Was there just someone at the window? No. They’d have to be eight feet tall to see in my window. Great. A giant is watching me. That doesn’t make me feel any better.

Now peering at the window from my bed, half-expecting a giant to appear outside: A full moon. Crazy how it’s perfectly framed by those trees. Oh great. I didn’t see a giant, I saw a werewolf. Maybe closing the blinds isn’t such a bad idea.

Getting up to close the blinds, and then stopping and lying back down: You’re ridiculous. There’s no such thing as werewolves. Or giants. Leave the blinds open. Go to sleep.

Three hours later: Where’s the blanket? I know it was here when I went to sleep? Is it on the floor? Maybe I can just find a piece of it and pull it back onto the bed. I’m not getting up to get it. I’ll just freeze.

Sometime around sunrise, and way too early to be awake: “Hey! Get back here. (Some dog’s name) get back here.” How is it possible that the world’s dumbest dog has the world’s loudest owner and they both just happen to live behind me?

Just before my alarm goes off, when I’m snug under my blanket, oblivious to the impending start of the day: What is that noise? Is he singing? I need to move.

Yes, you read that right. Since my bedroom window is within shouting distance of his glass block bathroom window, many mornings this summer I woke to the sound of my neighbor singing in the shower. And, of course, it had to be in the most obnoxious way possible. I’m pretty sure the guy thought it was 1984 and he was David Lee Roth and his shower was the stage at Madison Square Garden and thousands of people had come to see him.

But enough about that guy.

Sleeping with the windows open is one of the great small pleasures. If you’re lucky enough to experience a thunderstorm during the night, you’re really living the life.

And while twelve-year-old me may think that I’ve grown soft because I use the air conditioning sometimes, I’d like to think that he’s proud of me for not forgetting about the good stuff.  

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