© Pierre Maré,
2004 - 2007
Offbeat 116
Year 40 is on the way, and I still smoke. As it stands now, I have had the habit for 25 years. I know it is not a pleasant habit, nor healthy for myself or those around me. And I know I have to quit. But not just yet. My heart does not tell me that it is evil. In fact I am rather fond of the habit.
I manage to keep my head in a storm. In any given crisis, my vestigial masculine instinct tells me to get defensive, and possibly attack. I think it’s a biogenetic remnant from the days when the males of our species had the constant concern of predators viewing the wife and offspring as a relatively easy lunch, at least compared to the rather large and grouchy mammoth down the road.
Instead of picking up a desk and hurling it at the offender, or losing it completely in some other way if there is no offender in sight, I deal with problems by going outside, lighting a smoke, throwing up a smokescreen and thinking things through. Under these circumstances, smoking is a rather demented way of taking a deep breath, but effective nonetheless.
The nicotine soothes me. So in spite of the fact that smoking is bad for my heart, lungs, budget and everything else, it is good for my mental health and stress levels.
Are there any conceivable replacements? Probably not. Going out and getting roaring drunk may relieve the stress, but will just postpone the problem. Chewing gum is a vile habit just one step up from pederasty, at least to my mind. And retreating from the situation is never an option.
But smoking is also far more common to me than survival in a crisis. It is the punctuation marks in my day. As I write this I have been denying myself a cigarette, and some twenty minutes on from the moment the idea of not smoking entered my head, I am beginning to feel itchy and scratchy. Sentences need their commas, colons and stops: I apparently need a cigarette.
So what’s
the problem with quitting? I know hundreds of masochists who take delight
in telling me that they did it cold turkey: just like that. In my case,
there’s the physical need, which I could probably deal with. On
the other hand, there is the fact that I have become fond of smoking.
It’s a comfort that I can’t overlook in the absence of other
habits.
In this rather, cold hard ‘be-like-me, look-like-me’ world
of gyms, diets, fashion manifestos and the sort of bland uniformity that
would make George Orwell nervous, habits just don’t seem to make
the grade anymore.
I have done my fair share of getting rid of habits. I no longer initiate interesting discussions with religious fundamentalists or politicians. I don’t call the pub ‘my living room’ anymore. I am happily married with a kid, so obviously the serial pursuit of romance is out. Yet I can’t say I am all that happy with what I am becoming: a slightly overweight, grey person in a world full of grey people.
It is not that we form habits, so much as our habits form us. And I am running out of good ideas for habits.
Habits seem to indicate a certain level of personal freedom: not just on the part of a society that is prepared to give the space to habits, but also on the part of people who are willing to take liberties. Yet if society is neither willing to give, nor individuals prepared to take personal freedoms, then the little grey people will proliferate.
The important concept is that in our differences, we find the way forward. Groupthink produces the lowest common denominator. It is individuals who produce the outstanding ideas and inspirations.
The proliferation of habits in this scheme of things may not seem like much, but characteristic habits are the first sign of the freedom needed to be an individual.
What will it take to get me to stop smoking? My estimation is a couple of week of round-the-world flights on those smoke-free airlines with long stops in smoke-free airports. Or perhaps a couple of weeks in some remote corner of the desert. I doubt it will be the nicotine gum: it’s a psychological thing more than anything else.
Back to the archive • Previous • Next • Home
