Deja Vu A La Drew

I’ve been trying to quit smoking since I started years ago.

I suspect everyone is, or knows someone who’s struggled with quitting. It’s hard to quit something that is as natural to you as breathing or eating. It’s so engrained in the daily routine of existence, you forget to fight it. I don’t realize I’m doing it until I’m blowing out a chestfull of smoke and ash. “Ah, shit, that’s right. I don’t want to do this.” Then, I’d beat myself up to the point of needing to smoke to cope with how much of an asshole I was. I’m not really an asshole, but sheesh I sure could convince myself I was for doing anything. On edge no matter what I’m doing, the voice in the back of my head tearing me apart and stuffing the shreds into a dark, moldy corner in an endless cycle.

So I keep on smoking, smoking, smoking. I don’t want to, and I’m watching it happen. It reinforces the familiar ‘I Don’t Want This And I’m Powerless To Change The Situation’ mindset I grew up in.

I Don’t Want This And I’m PowerMORE To Change The Situation.
. . . Yeah, that’s more like it.

Today, I was looking out my office window, watching Phillip wash windows while the dogs danced around in the flying drops.

it’s going to be uncomfortable, and then eventually, it won’t be. it’s not the end of the world, or my life. I’ll still be me, I’ll still think like I do, and be like I am.

It seems too simple to be true, but you know, I’m going to lean into it. I’ll only fail if I quit trying, and I’ll never quit trying.

Maybe this time it sticks. I sure hope so.

Hmm, seems doubtful, I’ll try that again.

This time it sticks. I sure know so.

That lasted two hours. Baby steps. Baby steps. We all learn to walk with baby steps.

Usain Bolt learned to run fast, he didn’t throw newborn arms back and sprint across the ward.

Baby steps. Baby steps.

First I was falling

Then I had fallen

I picked myself up

then fell again

Dirt in my mouth

sand on my face

push myself up

crawl through this place

sometimes I push

with nothing but feet

I slide past a rock

think to myself ‘neat.’

I shake

and I stagger

I stumble and trip

but I do not lose my grip

on hope

and desire

or my unquenchable fire