The nostalgia of smoking
Smoking has an uncanny ability to evoke nostalgia. Sometimes — if the environment is just right — I’m taken back to specific, vivid memories which can be highly cathartic. I know it can appear like I romanticize smoking, which is on purpose. It’s important that I reckon with my deep, emotional connection to it. Cigarettes are a true ride or die for many people, me included.
A reliable de-stressor
Anyone who has smoked with regularity has probably stress-smoked a cigarette. Whether it’s because you just argued with a “Karen” at your retail job or because you just got rear-ended, smoking can help ease any stressful situation. When I stress-smoke, I take big drags and exhale deeply — and depending on the degree of the situation, can calm myself down quite easily.
As cliché as it may sound, cigarettes are “always there for me” when I’m stressed or anxious. The immediate pleasure and sense of calmness I get from cigarettes is unrivaled in many ways. The act of smoking gets me to stop, think, and breathe — it provides a pseudo moment of Zen no matter the degree of the situation.
Laid off
Like thousands of other people have experienced during this pandemic, I was laid off in early June of this year. It was a normal Tuesday morning, and I was signing on to my weekly team meeting. When I joined the WebEx meeting, only two people were attending — my former boss and a representative from HR.
“Hey Ryan… I regret to inform you that due to the circumstances of these uncertain times, we are unfortunately eliminating your position.”
As I heard my boss say those words, I felt like a deer in headlights. I didn’t know what to feel. But as soon as the virtual meeting ended, feelings of sadness, anger, betrayal, and anxiety overtook me. I loved my job and my team, and I couldn’t believe what had just happened.
I began to pace around my apartment — dreading having to call my wife H to tell her I could no longer help provide for us.
After I spoke with her, I continued to pace around the apartment. I’m someone who gets stressed about not having enough money, so the thought of running out of funds made me spiral into a panic.
It was barely 10 a.m., I grabbed a beer from the fridge and chugged about half of it. I stood in the kitchen and stared off into nothing. After chugging the last half, I grabbed my reliable pack of Camels and went outside to the backyard with Memphis.
I lit up and started to pace around the backyard — chain-smoking harder than I probably ever have. After I got tired of pacing, I sat down in one of our Adirondack chairs and laid my head back with a freshly lit cigarette.
I started to take deeper drags and slower exhales. “Okay,” I said to myself as I exhaled a long trail of smoke. “Okay… you can do this. People have come back from much worse. Calm yourself.”
After getting into a rhythm of slow inhales and exhales, I eventually calmed down. I sat in that chair for about an hour, alternating back and forth between little pep talks and prayers, all while lighting cigarette after cigarette.
Despite the stress and anxiety of the unknown, I eventually felt a small sense of peace. My cigarette-induced meditation brought me back to a clear headspace.
“You’ll get through this, Ryan,” I kept reminding myself.
Now, you might be thinking, “I thought this blog post was about nostalgia? Shouldn’t nostalgia be associated with good memories?”
While getting laid off isn’t a good memory, the nostalgia of this circumstance points to the therapeutic qualities of smoking. The rhythmic motion of deep inhales and exhales induces a sense of catharsis, which helps me reassess and reevaluate even the most stressful situations. Yes, getting laid off wasn’t an enjoyable experience, but my smoky moment of self-reflection is, in a way. That moment helped me see the bigger picture and gave me a feeling of hope that I would overcome the negative situation at hand.
An excellent companion to good conversation
All my favorite memories of those whom I hold dear can probably go back to good conversations. I love talking to people — especially close family and friends. When I’m engaged in rich dialogue with a loved one, I don’t want it to end. Like a nice, stiff drink, smoking can keep a good conversation going for hours.
Three brothers
After H and my wedding rehearsal activities, my brother — Rick — and soon-to-be brother-in-law — Jacob — went back to my old apartment for the night. I had been saving a bottle of TX Bourbon — you can’t get it up here in NH — for a special occasion, and I figured what better night to crack it open than with my two brothers. So I grabbed the bottle, three glasses, a fresh pack of cigarettes, and the three of us parked ourselves outside on the balcony of my apartment.
It was a perfectly warm, clear September night. Over the course of the evening we probably drank 90 percent of that fifth of bourbon. We talked about everything from religion to politics — old party stories, past selves, former girlfriends, and of course the following big day. We even talked about brotherhood and what it meant to Rick and I, and what it was going to mean for me and Jacob.
There was a part of me that didn’t want that night to end. I was of course excited and anxious to marry H the next day, but the moment the three of us were sharing was special. The conversation was as rich as they come, and I was doing one of my favorite activities — smoking and talking.
As the night went on, anytime Rick or Jacob’s glass started to get low, I’d sneak another pour in.
“Okay Ryan, I’m good — you’re probably good too. We practically drank the whole bottle” my brother said in his older brotherly tone.
I replied with friendly banter, “Don’t be a wuss. I’m enjoying this night with y’all. Humor me.”
After Rick and Jacob obliged a couple more pours they eventually tapped out with the bourbon. We all switched to water and continued our hang, all while yours truly lit cigarette after cigarette.
Over the course of the night we probably spent three hours out on that balcony before Rick eventually said “Alright man — we’ve had a great time. Make that your last cigarette so we can all rest up for the big day tomorrow.” Rick usually gives me grief for smoking, but that night he didn’t. He let me do my thing while I soaked in the moment.
Despite my desire to stay out there all night, I agreed and knew Rick was right. We had our fun but like all good things, the night had to come to an end.
Smoking and conversing gets me in some sort of a mood. Every finished cigarette is like ending a chapter of a really good book. You want to keep reading and almost get bummed when you finish the whole thing. Cigarettes and rich conversations are like that — I don’t ever want to stop smoking and talking. I get bummed when the pack is out because that’s usually when the conversation stops. Every pack is a sequel to the best series I’ve ever known.
An inducer of self-reflection
As I’ve previously mentioned — and cannot emphasize enough — there’s something highly cathartic about smoking cigarettes. When I smoke alone, it’s almost like I become more self-reflective. The motion of smoking engages my senses just enough to get my introspective juices really flowing.
You can maybe even contribute the conception of my beginning thoughts of seriously quitting, to one of these introspective moments.
Numb hands and heavy lungs
Like I usually am, there was a night last winter where I was out in the backyard with Memphis. It was a particularly cold night, and for whatever reason, H wasn’t home. After Memphis did his business and I tossed his ball around for a bit, I deemed the weather to be too cold for him to be outside. I took Memphis inside, but for some reason, I wanted to endure the bitter cold for a little longer. So, I poured myself a hefty ration of bourbon and made my way back outside.
Despite the harsh, freezing temperature, the night was clear and the moon reflected blue on the fresh layer of snow we got a couple of days before. It was cold as all hell, but I wanted to sit on our back steps to smoke and soak in the picturesque New England winter night. There was no wind and it was quiet, and the bourbon helped alleviate the below freezing temperature.
After about two cigarettes my hands went numb. It was so cold that my Bic lighter struggled to light when it was exposed to the frigid air. Despite the bitter cold, it didn’t stop me from lighting cigarette after cigarette.
As I sat on the steps to our apartment door, I asked myself, “am I out here in the cold because I like the winter or am I out here because I want to chain-smoke cigarettes?” Sure, there is something calm and beautiful about the cold and silence of winter, but who in their right mind wants to sit outside in barely 20F degree weather when the only heat source is a barely functioning Bic lighter that you light every 10 minutes or so?
At the end of the day I was out there to do one thing — smoke cigarettes. My love and desire to chain-smoke outweighed experiencing the harsh elements. This thought hit me like a ton of bricks — I was willing to endure the cold just so I could chain-smoke.
After this thought, I started to ask myself a series of deeper questions:
- What about smoking gives you the drive to tolerate something as intense as below-freezing temperatures?
- You already deemed it too cold for your dog — is it not too cold for you? Are you this unconcerned about your own health?
- Yes, it’s a calm and peaceful winter’s night, but you can’t feel your hands. Are you really enjoying this winter night, or are you just making excuses to chain-smoke?
This is when I realized that I had a bit of a problem. I was outside to chain-smoke and I didn’t care about my body. I didn’t care that I lost feeling in my hands and the essence of a peaceful winter night was just extra. It’s how I justified sacrificing my body to indulge in my desire to destroy it from within.
I smoke cigarettes because I love smoking cigarettes — and I will make any excuse to justify it.
Now, once again, where’s the nostalgia in this? Is this a good memory?
I guess it depends on how you frame it. This is a good memory to me because it was the first I realized that I had a problem. It was the first time I realized that my infatuation with smoking was so strong that I was willing to sacrifice my body just so that I could indulge in something that was slowly, but surely killing me.
And for that, it certainly is a good memory — because very frequently when I light a cigarette, I am taken back to that beautiful and calm freezing night that made me start thinking about quitting.
Cheers,
Ryan
