Up in Smoke

Eight months. It's been eight months since I quit smoking cigarettes. And to be fully transparent, that wasn't my last drag of that sweet nicotine… I've had a few since then. But eight months ago I was finally able to drink a coffee, have a glass of wine, wait for a bus, or put on a seatbelt without lighting up. 

My relationship with cigarettes was a tenuous one, my habit flickering before becoming fully ignited. Like anyone who smokes, my doing so obviously reflected a certain lack of caring about longevity or wise financial choices. I grew up watching both parents smoke, and swore to myself I'd never be a smoker. It was gross, stupid, and pointless. I had a few tries throughout high school and college, but even working in bars and restaurants for almost a decade couldn't make me cave. 

acting all french and smoking because smoking is cool kids.

When I finished college and moved to France with my then boyfriend, who was a smoker himself, I started to casually smoke a little more frequently. Though we had dated for nearly three years prior to moving to a country that was symbolized by a beret, a baguette, and a smoke, I had still managed to fight off the habit. However, sitting around drinking endless bottles of rosé while talking philosophy with our French friends in tiny smoke-filled apartments finally became too much for me to handle. I began buying my own packs for our late night weekend parties, which slowly bled over into the week. Yet I still maintained a light habit of only about a pack a week. 

I returned to America, ready to leave the smoking habit for good. It no longer suited me and I was starting to feel the effects. 

Then my boyfriend broke my heart. Out of the blue. The love of the past five years of my life, my smoking partner in crime, dealt me a blow I wasn't prepared for. And so I smoked. And I smoked. And I smoked. Some days I couldn't even eat, think, or talk -- but I could sure as hell light a cigarette... or ten. I remember a specific evening when my sister came to my house and forced me into the car so she could drive me to get food. Nothing sounded appetizing, so she insisted on driving past every single restaurant in town, until I finally agreed to a grilled cheese, of which I ate about a bite and a half and washed down with a delicious cigarette, that sweet sweet nicotine taking away my pain. 

I used cigarettes as a breakup crutch for a bit, until I put my life back together. I got a good job, moved into a beautiful apartment with french doors opening onto my private back porch, and bought a car. I started dating and taking control. I owned my youth, and would spend late nights smoking in bed, smoking in the bath, smoking on my porch, smoking in the car, smoking at work, smoking at the pool, and of course smoking at bars (you still can in Atlanta, surprisingly). I had no interest in quitting. I loved smoking. I was never bored, I never had to be idle, all my friends smoked, and smoking was my friend. 

When I moved to New York, the land of $15 packs of smokes, without a job, I knew the habit was unsustainable. I thought the price point alone would be enough to make me stop, but before I knew it i was back home getting a carton, knowing that breaking this addiction was going to be much harder than I thought. 

It was hard. It was so so so so so hard. I basically had to stop going out for the initial few months, knowing that alcohol would be too much pressure to resist the urge to light up. Even halfway through a 4-month intense training program to become a yoga teacher, I was still sneaking cigarettes during the week. I had weened down to only about 1-3 a day, but it seemed impossible to ever drop the last few. Then, I just stopped. I stopped. I felt empty. I felt fidgety. I felt in need of breaks all the time. 

Then I started meditating. I got the breaks. I started practicing breathing exercises, or pranayama. I felt less fidgety. I gave myself breaks. I rode my bike more, no longer needing the walk to the subway for my morning cig. I was able to enjoy my coffee indoors, even in the winter months. 

And like that, I was done being a smoker.