On the desk in front of me: a pouch of tobacco, a plate of crumbs, a knife streaked with butter, a steaming cup of black coffee. Early morning, misty rain outside the window. What I’d most like is a cigarette, but I’m trying to cut down. Not quit entirely, just cut down.
To quit smoking you have to sincerely want to, and I’m not sure I do. The science has never dissuaded me. Evidence rarely stops anyone from doing what they want. Partly, I hold this ridiculous, indefensible belief that I’m exempt from the laws of cause and effect that constrain everyone else.
And then there’s the anti-smoking case itself, delivered so bluntly it barely registers. The idea that you’re strapped to a train bound for disease and certain death is pretty much how we describe the human condition anyway, so it’s hard to summon much urgency, especially when a cigarette feels so harmless, so pleasurable.
I’m aware this could read like an endorsement for smoking, which of course it isn’t. We all know the countless hard facts against it, so I won’t bore you by repeating them. Far more interesting is why so many of us continue, against all logic, to smoke anyway. Here we wander into the uncharted inner realm of desire, which is different for everyone and always irrational.
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I had my first cigarette at 15, for the same simple reason as most people: because you weren’t supposed to. Not at home, not at school, not around parents or teachers. Those first cigarettes are inseparable from the feeling of self-determination, of climbing out of the soup of childhood and deciding what kind of individual you might like to be: walking through the streets with friends, staying out late, sneaking behind the bike shed, or whatever clandestine rituals defined your own adolescence.
Smoking also proved to be a useful social tool, giving an excuse to escape dull conversations and sometimes letting me into more interesting ones. And of course, all the films we’d ever seen told us smoking was sexy. By taking part in the act, you could add a cinematic sheen to your humdrum routines, you could pretend your life had some narrative shape.
It’s been almost 10 years since that first cigarette, and the situation is no longer so whimsical. I often find myself smoking when I don’t enjoy it; if I don’t, I grow restless and mean. Without going into unwanted detail, my digestive system protests. A cigarette gives shape to a moment; without it, I discover I’m actually doing nothing. These days my best argument for smoking is far more jaded: life is uncooperative, and it’s hard to get the things you want. Smoking creates an artificial need that can be instantly satisfied. It’s nice to want something you can always have.
Addiction thrives on comparison; there’s always someone worse off to reassure you you’re doing fine. Perhaps my habit is pretty benign in the scheme of things. I think of David Lynch, who had his first cigarette at eight and chain-smoked through to his 78th year. He addressed his decision to quit in a Tweet that struck me as truly remarkable: “Yes, I have emphysema from my many years of smoking. I have to say that I enjoyed smoking very much, and I do love tobacco – the smell of it, lighting cigarettes on fire, smoking them – but there is a price to pay for this enjoyment, and the price for me is emphysema.” I’ve never seen a clearer expression of that wide-eyed awareness and ineradicable tenderness peculiar to addiction.
There’s a final reason for smoking, and it applies to most of our bad habits. We hold on to them not in spite of their damage but because they stand between us and the imagined, more perfect version of ourselves. It’s lovely to believe in the possibility of change; it’s harder, and often more depressing, to go through the practicalities of actually changing. Perhaps on the other side there isn’t a radiant, disciplined figure at all, just the same person, minus their excuse.
For now, I continue to smoke. I like to smoke. If I smoked as much as I’d like to, I’d be forced to quit, which is why I’m cutting down.
HSE help is available on freephone 1800 201 203 X:@HSEQuitTeam Facebook: You Can Quit
Sarah Moss returns next month
