It’s mid-February, which is the perfect time to evaluate all those attempted resolutions of only six weeks ago. The new year ushers in a sense of determination that has the potential to last, but usually disappears within a few weeks, a few days, or even a few hours—usually about when that New Year’s Eve whiskey buzz turns into a New Year’s Day headache. I, like so many before me, took it upon myself to throw away that nasty habit that comes at an unreasonable price in packs of twenty. In theory, it shouldn’t take much dedication to get rid of a cigarette addiction. It’s costly and far more detrimental than the three-minute-long mental numb merits. But, in practice, addiction is a little more multidimensional than the rational mind can handle, so it’s no surprise that within a week, my pack-a-day habit was back in full force.
There seem to be four steps that lead me in circles when I finally work up the will to quit. I take a self-righteous approach to the task, realize the dire consequences of my decision no more than two or three days later, cave in and buy my brand of choice, and face a certain overwhelming guilt through the lens of self-pity. I then rationalize that it just wasn’t the right time for me and that I’ll get there eventually, all the while puffing at filter after filter.
Studies can tell me all the negative effects my habit has on my health. They can preach to me about the possibility of various cancers, emphysema, bronchitis, and heart disease, but I have a youthful invincibility complex and most likely won’t see signs of these until I am much further down the wretched path of addiction. Perhaps having seen firsthand a beloved family member fall victim to a slow and painful demise thanks to cigarettes should have caused eye-opening realizations about my own future, but sometimes the future is far too distant an abstraction to understand fully. The timelessness I’ve placed on my day-to-day life has made it impossible to deal with the idea of consequence in concrete terms.
And as much as it may be frowned upon to have an addiction to cigarettes, society isn’t behind you on this task either. People may wish their best to you and cheer you on from the sidelines, but when you fail for the first or second time, they won’t chastise you. Instead, they’ll wish you better luck next time, as if your quitting was in fate’s hands instead of yours.
So I took a step back from my earlier halfhearted attempts and took on the task as if it were my first time. At first, I found it difficult to walk through the crowds of smokers in front of Lauinger Library, but when, a few days in, the full sensations of taste and smell came back, it was as if I was being granted a rebate for the payment of anxiety-driven headaches. A few weeks in, the cravings lessened and I regained the lung capacity to climb a set of stairs instead of waiting for Copley’s molasses -like elevators. A few months and maybe I’ll find myself wondering why I ever let those vile capitalist companies profit from me for so long.
Take note that this is not a message written in a self-righteous tone, as I’m fully aware that cigarette addiction does not have a simple answer; if it were to have one I surely wouldn’t be under its influence. This is simply a notice that it isn’t an impossible feat, regardless of how many times you’ve tried and failed before. You must find a path and reason that work for you, and think of it as a personal obligation that won’t lose meaning in the coming days or weeks or years.
