As of last week, I have gone two years and counting since my last cigarette. Despite numerous attempts to be a "casual" smoker, it turns out I'm not a woman, so it was boom or bust for my quitting hopes. I had made it as long as five months at one point. The day I started again (I refuse to say relapsed. I wasn't a coke addict.) I was straight back to a solid pack a day habit. At least a dozen more short-lived "done for good" postures and countless packs later, I had crossed the point where cigarettes had anything to add to my life. I'm not sure when it happened, but at some point I no longer smoked because I liked it; I smoked because I was a smoker.
No, I didn't up and quit when I reached this realization. I had at least two years of rueing every single cigarette I smoked before I stopped for good. Still, I don't regret that it took me so long. We all quit at our own pace. I quit when I was ready. It didn't come down to some epiphany (either real or imagined) or any self-imposed ultimatum. At some point, I just decided it was my time. Two year later, all the nicotine out my system, I still have mixed emotions about the whole experience.
Like so many young men motivated my hormones and the desire to not look so fucking uncomfortable, I started smoking because of a girl. The girl is irrelevant. Seventeen year old James was ready to grow long hair and pierce his ear if it meant getting girls to pay attention. Yeeeeah, that really happened. (For the record, chicks dig the hair.) As I was saying, she smoked, so I smoked, and I was stuck at that point. It was fun finding a brand- Marlboro, FYI and FTW- and embracing the false sense of rebellion reserved for teenagers who didn't really have it that bad growing up. But that all fades. It turns out smoking is kind of terrible for you in every way imaginable, not the least of which being the excessive trips outside during snow storms. Eventually you realize you don't know why you smoke anymore. Maybe you have piss poor anger management. Maybe every single one of your friends smoke. Maybe you convinced yourself it's part of the mystique about being a artist. Maybe you're me and you pencilled in "All of the above." However you get there, at some point, it stops making sense.
Cigarettes are an addiction that defies logic. Drug addicts don't just get high to feed their addiction; drugs are fun. Getting high is fun. Nothing is particularly fun about cigarettes. The temporary relaxation, the so-called nicotine hit, is a carcinogenic replacement for the cheapest, healthiest relaxation method in the world: breathing. Smoking is all the downside without any of the benefits. The more you think about it, the more you realize how much you don't want to smoke anymore. So why do I still look back on those years with nostalgia?
Cigarettes are unhealthy, expensive, smelly, downright vile when you think about it. Above all else, cigarettes are cool. The desire to be cool is the reason we start smoking. The fabricated charisma surrounding smokers is more than enough to keep smokers smoking. And when it's all settled in, pride, smoker's pride, is stronger than any patch, stick of gum or holistic scam artist can ever be. I still have that pride. Even though I hate cigarettes, resent their very existence, I always argue for smoker's rights. I genuinely believe bars should have the right to designate themselves as smoking or clean living. Does that make me a Libertarian or am I just a smoker?
I still love cigarettes. Although I believe I have a good shot at remaining clean for the rest of my life - I've already come this far - I still envy those who puff away despite all the research, all the stigma, all the $13 packs. In some way I see them as braver than me, more stubborn. My Irish side admires such qualities. But I'll stick it out. They tell me I'm adding years to my life this way. It's cool, I'll cancel that out with bourbon and anxiety.
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