“Avoid using cigarettes, alcohol, and drugs as an alternative to being an interesting person.” - Marilyn Vos Savant
Cigarettes.
Now, if you’re a smoker, don’t worry. I’m not going to take this space to convince you to quit. You already know you should. All I can do is tell a tale about what quitting was like for me.
Now, if you’re a smoker, don’t worry. I’m not going to take this space to convince you to quit. You already know you should. All I can do is tell a tale about what quitting was like for me.
If ever there was such a thing as a love/hate relationship it’s the relationship between a smoker and their tobacco of choice. Cigarette, cigar, pipe, or hookah.
That was certainly the way it was for me. And, if truth be told, still is in a way. It has now been about seven months since I’ve had a cigarette. No cigarette, no nicotine patch, no nicotine gum, no nicotine suppositories. Nada.
Don’t get me wrong. I certainly don’t regret that I quit smoking. My breathing is better, my sense of taste is better. And even my sense of smell is better, which is itself a mixed blessing.
Yet I still need to be honest here. There are times when I get a craving for a smoke. For example when driving through bad traffic, or driving through good traffic. After a heavy meal or after a light meal. Oddly however never during a meal.
Part of the difficulty for me in quitting came from how long I was a smoker. For most of some 43 years I smoked. Of all the things in my life smoking was the most constant, the most dependable thing of all. It was an old friend, always there for me when I needed it.
One odd thing for me is that I started smoking in Boy Scouts. The troop I was in (briefly) back in Michigan had an assistant troop leader who was the acting troop leader. If memory serves the official leader had recently passed away.
The assistant was only a college kid, far too young and immature to be responsible for a group of impressionable young boys. He would buy packs of cigarettes for the kids. That was back around 1970, when smoking was still largely acceptable and "cool."
This was also the troop where I learned you can light your farts on fire, but that's for another blog.
When I got married the first time I tried to quit. I'd say I was pretty successful at it a number of times.
After I started to work at a convenience store I started smoking again for the 10th or 11th time, and this time there was no going back. Standing behind a cash register at 3 am tends to make one a little nervous, and standing next to a rack full of smokes was just too much.
After the divorce there was little reason for me to quit, other than that slowly dying thing. Cigarettes became my constant companion. Even more, they were my protection, my barrier against the world and all the little things out there that wanted to hurt me.
And yes, I am aware of the irony. Trying to protect myself from emotional hurts big and small by giving myself lung cancer, throat cancer, emphysema, and ashtray breath.
I did manage to quit once during that period for an extended time. During the late 80's I quit smoking for a total of 9 months.
That year I drove by myself back to my home town. It was the first time I had been back since my honeymoon, and the drive was to say a bit stressful.
When I got to town I bought a pack of cigarettes, telling myself it would just be 1 pack, until I went to bed. Then in the morning I had to finish the pack. Then it was just the rest of the day, and I'd quit again. Then it was finish the week of vacation. And it was all over.
In truth, it was all over when I lit up the first one when I got to town.
When my current wife and I decided to get married I knew I had to quit, and this time for real. So I went on the nicotine patches.
When I was with my wife it was surprisingly easy to not smoke, as long as I had on the patch. When she wasn't around it was too easy to cheat. I finally had to admit to myself, I had to just quit, cold turkey, no more anything.
It was hard, the hardest thing I've ever done. For a few months whenever I got stressed by even the littlest thing I would crave a smoke. And knowing I couldn't give in, not even for 1 puff, made it even harder. Like giant fingernails scraping across the blackboard of my soul.
But I made it. I had a reason to quit that meant more to me than anything else, more than a lifetime of habit, more than four decades of chemical comfort.
Living a long and happy life with Gina.
Yet I still need to be honest here. There are times when I get a craving for a smoke. For example when driving through bad traffic, or driving through good traffic. After a heavy meal or after a light meal. Oddly however never during a meal.
Part of the difficulty for me in quitting came from how long I was a smoker. For most of some 43 years I smoked. Of all the things in my life smoking was the most constant, the most dependable thing of all. It was an old friend, always there for me when I needed it.
One odd thing for me is that I started smoking in Boy Scouts. The troop I was in (briefly) back in Michigan had an assistant troop leader who was the acting troop leader. If memory serves the official leader had recently passed away.
The assistant was only a college kid, far too young and immature to be responsible for a group of impressionable young boys. He would buy packs of cigarettes for the kids. That was back around 1970, when smoking was still largely acceptable and "cool."
This was also the troop where I learned you can light your farts on fire, but that's for another blog.
When I got married the first time I tried to quit. I'd say I was pretty successful at it a number of times.
After I started to work at a convenience store I started smoking again for the 10th or 11th time, and this time there was no going back. Standing behind a cash register at 3 am tends to make one a little nervous, and standing next to a rack full of smokes was just too much.
And yes, I am aware of the irony. Trying to protect myself from emotional hurts big and small by giving myself lung cancer, throat cancer, emphysema, and ashtray breath.
I did manage to quit once during that period for an extended time. During the late 80's I quit smoking for a total of 9 months.
That year I drove by myself back to my home town. It was the first time I had been back since my honeymoon, and the drive was to say a bit stressful.
When I got to town I bought a pack of cigarettes, telling myself it would just be 1 pack, until I went to bed. Then in the morning I had to finish the pack. Then it was just the rest of the day, and I'd quit again. Then it was finish the week of vacation. And it was all over.
In truth, it was all over when I lit up the first one when I got to town.
When my current wife and I decided to get married I knew I had to quit, and this time for real. So I went on the nicotine patches.
When I was with my wife it was surprisingly easy to not smoke, as long as I had on the patch. When she wasn't around it was too easy to cheat. I finally had to admit to myself, I had to just quit, cold turkey, no more anything.
It was hard, the hardest thing I've ever done. For a few months whenever I got stressed by even the littlest thing I would crave a smoke. And knowing I couldn't give in, not even for 1 puff, made it even harder. Like giant fingernails scraping across the blackboard of my soul.But I made it. I had a reason to quit that meant more to me than anything else, more than a lifetime of habit, more than four decades of chemical comfort.
Living a long and happy life with Gina.
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