As promised, this will be the third lesson on smoking. It won't be as funny, but it needs to be shared.
Four years after my aborted attempt to quit by becoming an aversion therapist in 1981, I once again decided to quit smoking. This time, the impetus was having turned 40 and having the nagging sense that I had a choice to make: continue smoking and see my life stay much the same; or, pull the rug out and cast my fate to the wind.
I didn't do this for the usual reasons of health or social acceptibility. I did it because every fiber of my being told me that real growth and change could NOT exist inside this gripping addiction.
I was so right.
By now I was a two-pack a day smoker with about 23 years invested in smoking. I made a better plan for quitting this time by enlisting my personal trainer daughter to teach me free weight-lifting. I then devised a strategy whereby each day for the next two months, I'd ration my smokes. By the numbers, I'd dole out the exact number which would eventually bring me to zero in 60 days.
This worked for me because it wasn't drastic and oddly enough gave me increasing confidence that I had some self-control after all!
I managed to reduce the number of smokes down to 7 or 8 a day. Unfortunately, the fewer the smokes, the more preoccupied I became with when I'd enjoy each one. By the end of the sixth week, I knew I had to make the break.
It was a Friday night closing in around midnight. I had only one smoke left from my day's ration and the pack would be gone. I called my now-ex husband into the kitchen and announced, "WATCH ME SMOKE MY LAST CIGARETTE EVER!!". He quickly got our camera and proceeded to snap a dozen images of me smoking my very last cigarette.
You could see my expression go from elation to despair in just ten minutes.
The aftermath might scare anyone away from trying to quit, so I'll spare most of the details. In fact, I'm thinking this is yet one more "lesson" I'll save for a future posting, so look for "SMOKING 104" in the near future?
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