Yesterday, I took a run at living an electricity-free day. In this personal protest against our nation’s fossil fuel dependency, I envisioned twenty-four blissful hours of freedom from the power grid. But the reality of the experience, I must confess, is more an embarrassing tale of forgetfulness and ethical confusion.

Once the day got going, I did fairly well. I ignored the coffee-maker and put coffee grounds in my cloth tea bag to make individual cups of coffee with boiled water from the gas stove. It was a perfect Wisconsin summer day so I made sure the house’s air conditioning and re-circulating fan were off. I exercised on the mechanical stationary bike and never turned on the battery-powered display; instead, I monitored my time with a solar-powered Citizen Eco-Watch. The computer and iPhone stayed off. Reading library books in the natural daylight of our screened porch rounded out the morning hours. Mid-day, I pulled weeds in the garden. After that, my husband and I went for a bike ride on a local trail and visited friends.

These electricity-free activities sound ideal, but–in fact–my execution was imperfect. The day began by stumbling into the bathroom, flipping on the light switch, and brushing my teeth with an electric toothbrush. As a matter of fact, every time I stepped into the windowless john I unconsciously turned on the lights and closed the door. I also absent-mindedly began the process of making toast in the toaster, caught myself exercising in a fully lit room, and pressed the garage door opener to put the bikes into storage. Throughout the day, I was asleep to my own actions.

But here’s the really messy thing about my plan: my husband. I’m sharing a house with a man who is not having an electricity-free day and this created ethically confusing moments I have yet to resolve. I spent much of my time turning lights off in rooms he passed through. I had hoped to load a cooler with food items for the day and turn the refrigerator off for twenty-four hours, leaving the doors shut to maintain the cold. But my man was sure everything would perish. “How would that help the environment,” he challenged, “if all the food goes to waste?” In the end, the fridge stayed on and I–with no small measure of guilt–opened and closed the doors to access food when hungry.

Then, darkness fell. My mate set the kitchen aglow as he cleaned the dinner dishes. The Green Bay Packer game boomed from the television.

A journey I took through Uganda many years back came to mind. I and three colleagues drove deep into the Bwindi Impenetrable National Forest, arriving well after dark. It was a moonless night. As we traveled, the truck’s headlights shone on crowds of people; they were socializing in the blackness, repairing mopeds, and walking goats on leashes. Children played. The interior of every home was empty, dark as ink.

“I’m surprised everyone is out in the community,” I offered to my native companion. “Where I come from, people rest after supper, enjoy a quite time before sleep.”

In an uncharacteristically impatient tone she barked: “What would you have them do, Heather? Sit alone, in the dark?”

Only then did I realize these people live an electricity-free life.

Hearing her voice anew, I asked “What would you have yourself do, Heather? Sit alone in the dark?” Electricity-free doesn’t mean free of social interaction. I had thought I might spend the evening at a coffee shop or library, a lively communal gathering place. But, my non-compliant spouse created that entertaining communal place in my own home. Resigning myself to imperfection, I turned off all of the kitchen’s lights and settled beside him under the flicker of a pre-season Packer win.

In all, I give myself a grade of “C+” for my first Electricity-Free Day. Perhaps on my next protest day, August 24th, I will be more mindful of my habits and a more persuasive influence on my partner’s actions.

Did you have an electricity-free day, too? If so, let me know how things went for you. I’d be especially grateful to learn your after-dark strategies. H