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Introductions, Disclaimers, and a Surgeon General’s Warning
When I was in college, I was a smoker. I’m not talking a social smoker who barely inhaled over room temperature beer onQuarter Pitcher night. I’m talking: a few over coffee, one before class, a few while we got dressed to go out dancing, two after a big meal, and one before bed. Every day. For about seven years. My roommates and I would sit on our very unstable balcony for hours on end while we lit one off of the other as we solved the world’s problems. Those little guys helped me study, and they entertained me on long road trips. They gave me something to do with my hands while I tried to figure out who I wanted to be in this world.
I know.
It’s a terrible, disgusting habit that slowly crushes your health and is a dehumidifier for your skin.But oh, the sweet bliss of that first inhale. Mhmm. I loved it. Everyone I knew in college smoked. Some of the best conversations and most memorable moments I had in those years were clouded under the smog ofMarlboros, Camel Crushes, and a fewAmerican Spirits. I’ve been nicotine free for almost a decade now, but I think back on my tobacco addiction with fondness quite often.
Especially these days. It is currently October 2020. An election year, the year of the pandemic, killer hornets, back-to-back-to-back hurricanes, conspiracy theories, masks, and basically theanything-that-can-go-wrong-will-go-wrong year. So yes, I’ve daydreamed about chain smoking with the windows open to make deciphering Britney Spears’ Instagram stories go down a whole lot easier.
But I digress. Why am I telling you about my dirty habit?
Because during my tenure as a chain smoker, when I woke up each morning, a voice inside my head (one of a dozen) would whisper to me gently,cancerrrr. Lung cancer. Lung cancer. Lung cancer! And it would remind me of the promise I’d made the day before, that I was going to cut back or quit all together. It was a must. Gone were the days of the glamorous smoker—theBetty Drapers, and theCarrie Bradshaws, and theHolly Golightlys that made the habit look so mysterious and chic. That voice eventually got the best of me, because I did quit. But then, as if she needed something else to do, that same voice that woke me up reminding me of my impending emphysema doom, started singing a new song to me each morning.
