When the Smoke Cleared

Well, for what I think is now a comfortable margin of success, I'm prepared to make this stunning announcement that will in no way affect any of your personal lives, but still, here it is: I quit smoking. About two months ago (okay, seven weeks, but I have to grasp here for some encouragement).

I quit for three reasons. Quite simply, cost, health, and increased human interaction. I can't afford this $5.00 a day. That's my monthly rent twice over and then some in a year's time ($1,800.00). Starting to bike more often also nudged me toward it. I struggled up meager hills and found myself gasping for air as angels from heaven prepared for my departure from the world.

Purchasing an entry-level road bike upon quitting for two weeks afforded further encouragement. It became the new addiction. I joined a new club. Left the smokers for the snobby road bikers who I, in all actuality, give care less for and continue to poke fun at with their spandex and synthetic-fiber shirts with the little pocket on the back so they can answer their cell going 25 mph around the lake ("Honey--I'm biking, I can't talk right now." Why did you even answer your phone, polyester bike-ninja man?).

That's tangential, my apologies. I was returning to a legitimate point. I entered a new class of people. The non-smokers. I'm considered friendly, tolerable now. And now I understand it. There really is a whole majority of the population that's willing to poo-poo the smokers to the point of ostracizing them.

It's actually rather pathetic. It's a bad habit. It's no different than constant binge-drinking which seems to be all-the-more acceptable than smoking. And people are willing to draw judgement on this one thing. A therapist friend of mine explained how smoking is often a sign of childhood or adolescent trauma. For many (including myself really), it was a safety behavior. No different than the rocking motions often observed in autistic children.

And perhaps this does translate to others unconsciously (smokers are traumatized people). After all, it is nicely built into the lexicon of characters that the stressed out, angered, or generally "edgy" are always puffing away.

I'm not sure how I should draw my conclusions here. Being honest, I'd rather not be judgemental toward anyone, smoking or not. Alas, I'm human, but my judgement errs on the side of tolerance: you only live once, it's just how long you want to.