Sometimes it just hits me. How insanely fortunate I am. Food, shelter, love, companionship, satisfying pursuits, sanity, health, (just noticed I put food first. Typical). There's a dull patina of guilt associated with the above list. What did I ever do to deserve them? Must come from a past life as I've certainly not led an unselfish, unsullied life this time around. Nevertheless, there they are. Blessing beyond measure.
Since quitting smoking 2 1/2 years ago, even my breath has been the source of a healthy dose of gratitude. When I think of it, breathing, I have to take a deep chest full with unbearably gratifying breath. How good is that? I could be dead (no breath), hooked up to a respirator or suffering from asthma or emphysema or some such thing where breathing is an ongoing fight. Instead, despite over 40 years of smoking, I've been given a second chance and boy, don't I know it! When I am mindful (read - when I am here and not lost in some storytelling popcorn eating haze of daydreaming) I gulp big lungfuls of air just for sheer delight. It's so delicious. Perhaps people who have never abused themselves with cigarettes can't understand but when you smoke your lungs lose elasticity. You can't take a deep breath. Impossible. You inhale so far and it's as though you've hit a wall. Here and no further so there is no satisfying stretch, like stretching cramped too-long-sitting-muscles. It is quite awful. I used to almost get there by opening my mouth and trying to stretch using chest muscles in a poor and ultimately frustrating facsimile. Now I don't have to. Sure, there's a long way to go. Forty years of smoking damage isn't undone in two but the difference even now is profound.
And I feel so sorry for the people I know who smoke. Can't help them, can't even say anything because I know what it's like when you smoke. You're addicted and mentally turn off anything that damages the fragile reasons you've made to give yourself permission to smoke. I did it so well, so thoroughly for so long. Nothing anyone could have said would have made me change my mind. So they smoke and they cough and they smell and they have to budget for their smokes as it's unbelievably expensive now and I am sorry.
I am free and oh, isn't that breath SWEET?
Showing posts with label smoking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label smoking. Show all posts
Friday, October 3, 2014
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Countdown to Quitting
Day Three: Haven't stopped smoking yet but it is three days after making the decision to do so. Have one pack and a bit left so it's not too long before having to face those first three crucial days of doing without. But there is much to gain too (hopefully not weight!). Having my breath back, feeling true to myself, gain in energy and sense of smell, perhaps even whiter teeth.
So why have I chosen to quit after giving up attempting to give up for so many years? Of course there are the physical side effects; a smokers cough when I've never had a smoker's cough. Noticeable tingling in my hands and arms in bed from lack of circulation, not enjoying a smoke as much as I used to but the most important reason is how smoking is like having a huge hairy wart on the end of my nose. It doesn't fit with who I am, who I want to be. I blame yoga for this. Yoga and pranayama. It's not only that my lung capacity sucks, it is a Big Lie to continue smoking when yoga brings me closer, however, slowly, to the truth of my being.
And my Being doesn't smoke, does not treat herself with disrespect, does not intentionally and consistently harm herself. She does not pollute the air which is already so polluted with the effects of humanity. I gave up meat because I don't believe in the killing of animals to feed me something I don't need. I gave up dairy because of the pain it causes to cows and calves. So I can be compassionate to others. Why not myself?
So why have I chosen to quit after giving up attempting to give up for so many years? Of course there are the physical side effects; a smokers cough when I've never had a smoker's cough. Noticeable tingling in my hands and arms in bed from lack of circulation, not enjoying a smoke as much as I used to but the most important reason is how smoking is like having a huge hairy wart on the end of my nose. It doesn't fit with who I am, who I want to be. I blame yoga for this. Yoga and pranayama. It's not only that my lung capacity sucks, it is a Big Lie to continue smoking when yoga brings me closer, however, slowly, to the truth of my being.
And my Being doesn't smoke, does not treat herself with disrespect, does not intentionally and consistently harm herself. She does not pollute the air which is already so polluted with the effects of humanity. I gave up meat because I don't believe in the killing of animals to feed me something I don't need. I gave up dairy because of the pain it causes to cows and calves. So I can be compassionate to others. Why not myself?
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Quitting
Have just lit a cigarette in a post where I'm going to give myself a pep talk about giving them up. Have you ever seen someone nicely turned out, beautifully groomed, stylish clothes and wearing tennis shoes (like Cybil Shepherd on the Oscar red carpet once - good for her!) well, that's my life. Cigarettes strike such a false note, especially as yoga is such a big part of it now. I mean, pranayama is all about The Breath. And I have smoker's cough. Who am I kidding? I read of these luscious yoga retreats that I'll never go on because I couldn't go without a fag or if I did sneak a smoke, everyone would know.
And then there's Richard. If I quit, he will, without question. He tried a few months ago but I puffed away around him. What chance did he have? We both would be so much better off, feel much better, all those obvious things, if I just quit.
I'm scared of two things, that horrible sickness of last time when I vomited like a conveyer belt of toxins. Not to get too icky about it but usually when you vomit, it's called a heave for good reason. Not pleasant, pretty disgusting, but that time it was scary. My mouth was open and it just kept on coming without surcease. But I did survive. The second thing is derived from vanity. I don't want to put on weight. I'm down to 118, perhaps less as I haven't weighed myself in a month or more. I haven't been below 120 since 1987 (from a broken heart and fear, not the ideal way to lose weight).
A de-tox juice/vegetable fast might come in handy when I quit (have 2 or 3 packs in the pantry still). Get it all over with at once - of course that means giving up coffee and wine too, perhaps too much to ask for at one time. Giving up dairy products (except for the two tablespoons of powdered milk in the homemade bread) was easy. Thought I'd miss cheese but I don't. Yes, I have chocolate too but think I can give that a miss as well.
If I become a non-smoker I'll get my breath back. I know they say it takes ten years for it to return to normal but the increased lung capacity is noticed almost immediately. My mouth will taste better. I won't reek of cigarettes and won't feel self-conscious around non-smokers, which are legion. The house will smell better. The house will sell better if it doesn't have that nicotine residue. I will have more energy, especially initially when activity substitutes for smoking, but long term as well.
But most of all I will be true to myself. I try and kid myself about my smoking. It's lying. I know it's lying and that's the worst part. Being unkind to me. Lying to me. Doing damage to me, consciously, intentionally, continuously. Why be so mean to myself?
W
And then there's Richard. If I quit, he will, without question. He tried a few months ago but I puffed away around him. What chance did he have? We both would be so much better off, feel much better, all those obvious things, if I just quit.
I'm scared of two things, that horrible sickness of last time when I vomited like a conveyer belt of toxins. Not to get too icky about it but usually when you vomit, it's called a heave for good reason. Not pleasant, pretty disgusting, but that time it was scary. My mouth was open and it just kept on coming without surcease. But I did survive. The second thing is derived from vanity. I don't want to put on weight. I'm down to 118, perhaps less as I haven't weighed myself in a month or more. I haven't been below 120 since 1987 (from a broken heart and fear, not the ideal way to lose weight).
A de-tox juice/vegetable fast might come in handy when I quit (have 2 or 3 packs in the pantry still). Get it all over with at once - of course that means giving up coffee and wine too, perhaps too much to ask for at one time. Giving up dairy products (except for the two tablespoons of powdered milk in the homemade bread) was easy. Thought I'd miss cheese but I don't. Yes, I have chocolate too but think I can give that a miss as well.
If I become a non-smoker I'll get my breath back. I know they say it takes ten years for it to return to normal but the increased lung capacity is noticed almost immediately. My mouth will taste better. I won't reek of cigarettes and won't feel self-conscious around non-smokers, which are legion. The house will smell better. The house will sell better if it doesn't have that nicotine residue. I will have more energy, especially initially when activity substitutes for smoking, but long term as well.
But most of all I will be true to myself. I try and kid myself about my smoking. It's lying. I know it's lying and that's the worst part. Being unkind to me. Lying to me. Doing damage to me, consciously, intentionally, continuously. Why be so mean to myself?
W
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
The Emperor's New Clothes
Wonder if other people are addicted to the games that come already installed on their computer. I've just spent the last hour and a half playing them. Disgusted with myself, of course. Got up and started to do the chores and thought, no, I must come back, ignore the damn games and write. Write anything. Write something. So here I am. It's getting hot already. Supposed to get to 39 or 40 degree again today so if I do yoga while dripping sweat all over the mat I've no one to blame but myself for leaving it so long while I played. Perhaps others are addicted but don't see it as such or if they do they keep it a secret as I do. I've been known to get up from a TV program I'm enjoying just to come in and have a quick game of solitaire. I'll write and when I can't think of a word or have come to a natural pause will flip up a game. I think this time, today, yesterday, tomorrow, I'll not play any more but will devote my time to creating or reading or something constructive. That will last until the next time I bring up 'games'.
There, I've come to a natural pause and the urge arises to play. It's worse than quitting cigarettes. Another bad habit of mine that I've come to terms with, more or less. Probably less but I smoke and there it is. When someone points out that smoking is such an odd thing for me to do given my otherwise healthy lifestyle, I flippantly reply, 'moderation in all things' which fools no one. Least of all me.
Why are we at war with ourselves? Rather, why am I at war with myself? I know the correct way to live. Correct is perhaps not the correct word. It implies an outwardly imposed law when the rightness of living comes from within. An inner knowing even if I didn't have the media telling me smoking is bad for me. It's akin to knowing that this person is, despite their entertaining manner and colourful persona, not a good person to be around, at least for me. But I can be dazzled by their glamourous aura somewhat like the moth around a flame. I know they're bad but I can't help but be attracted. Must say, bad is a relative term. I can be tremendously strong and easily led at the same time. That effort to please, to be accepted, don't we all have that? We're social animals and it's important to be part of a group. Perhaps in the dim past, our lives depended upon it. Outcasts wouldn't have survived as well, the pariah dog that others threw stones at and drove away from the fire.
Just read an article by Spengler in the Asia Times about the big con of modern art (http://www.atimes.com/atimes/Front_Page/IA30Aa03.html). In it Spengler compares modern art to modern atonal music a la Schoenberg. He writes, 'By inflicting sufficient ugliness upon us, the modern artists believe, they will wear down our capacity to see beauty.' Perhaps not consciously but there does seem to be this trend to glorify the ugly, the sadistic, the scatalogical, death and destruction. Perhaps it's a reflection of the dark fear of modern man, that we are skating on the edge of self-created destruction. We are the authors of our destruction, we know what is the right thing to do, yet we persist in doing the exact opposite, rather like my small beans game playing. A macrocosm in the microcosm. Humanity seems to have gone collectively insane. He writes that in a gallery we are in control of how much time we spend in front of an artist's work, while in the concert hall we're stuck for the duration. But that doesn't explain why people pay such huge money for crap (sometimes literally). He (perhaps Spengler is a she but I'll use he for simplicity) uses the example of a cow's head in a glass jar covered with maggots *created* by Damien Hirst. It was purchased by an ad executive called Saatchi.
Why?
It's makes me laugh. Really. Richard and I spent months holding our breath as we walked past a maggot-ridden dead horse which had broken it's neck against a fence post. The owner of the horse didn't bother to drag it away. Granted it had died on an inhabited stretch of our country road and as we are the only ones that walk it, probably no one was affected but us (except the dogs who thought it was smelled delicious and tried to drag us over). Spengler didn't write how much was paid for it but having just googled Hirst I see he is touted as Britain's richest living artist for works celebrating death and animals preserved in formaldehyde. Ye gods, a tiger shark preserved in formaldehyde in a vitrine tank sold for $8 million pounds. This HAS to be a case of The Emperor's New Clothes. Doesn't it? I have visions of the 'artists' laughing behind their hands as they collect their money. A huge joke because we believe their hype that if we don't 'get it' we're uncivilized philistines. A title we should wear as a badge of honour.
There, I've come to a natural pause and the urge arises to play. It's worse than quitting cigarettes. Another bad habit of mine that I've come to terms with, more or less. Probably less but I smoke and there it is. When someone points out that smoking is such an odd thing for me to do given my otherwise healthy lifestyle, I flippantly reply, 'moderation in all things' which fools no one. Least of all me.
Why are we at war with ourselves? Rather, why am I at war with myself? I know the correct way to live. Correct is perhaps not the correct word. It implies an outwardly imposed law when the rightness of living comes from within. An inner knowing even if I didn't have the media telling me smoking is bad for me. It's akin to knowing that this person is, despite their entertaining manner and colourful persona, not a good person to be around, at least for me. But I can be dazzled by their glamourous aura somewhat like the moth around a flame. I know they're bad but I can't help but be attracted. Must say, bad is a relative term. I can be tremendously strong and easily led at the same time. That effort to please, to be accepted, don't we all have that? We're social animals and it's important to be part of a group. Perhaps in the dim past, our lives depended upon it. Outcasts wouldn't have survived as well, the pariah dog that others threw stones at and drove away from the fire.
Just read an article by Spengler in the Asia Times about the big con of modern art (http://www.atimes.com/atimes/Front_Page/IA30Aa03.html). In it Spengler compares modern art to modern atonal music a la Schoenberg. He writes, 'By inflicting sufficient ugliness upon us, the modern artists believe, they will wear down our capacity to see beauty.' Perhaps not consciously but there does seem to be this trend to glorify the ugly, the sadistic, the scatalogical, death and destruction. Perhaps it's a reflection of the dark fear of modern man, that we are skating on the edge of self-created destruction. We are the authors of our destruction, we know what is the right thing to do, yet we persist in doing the exact opposite, rather like my small beans game playing. A macrocosm in the microcosm. Humanity seems to have gone collectively insane. He writes that in a gallery we are in control of how much time we spend in front of an artist's work, while in the concert hall we're stuck for the duration. But that doesn't explain why people pay such huge money for crap (sometimes literally). He (perhaps Spengler is a she but I'll use he for simplicity) uses the example of a cow's head in a glass jar covered with maggots *created* by Damien Hirst. It was purchased by an ad executive called Saatchi.
Why?
It's makes me laugh. Really. Richard and I spent months holding our breath as we walked past a maggot-ridden dead horse which had broken it's neck against a fence post. The owner of the horse didn't bother to drag it away. Granted it had died on an inhabited stretch of our country road and as we are the only ones that walk it, probably no one was affected but us (except the dogs who thought it was smelled delicious and tried to drag us over). Spengler didn't write how much was paid for it but having just googled Hirst I see he is touted as Britain's richest living artist for works celebrating death and animals preserved in formaldehyde. Ye gods, a tiger shark preserved in formaldehyde in a vitrine tank sold for $8 million pounds. This HAS to be a case of The Emperor's New Clothes. Doesn't it? I have visions of the 'artists' laughing behind their hands as they collect their money. A huge joke because we believe their hype that if we don't 'get it' we're uncivilized philistines. A title we should wear as a badge of honour.
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