Up in Smoke

For most of my adult life (since the conception of my first child), I have been an off-again, on-again smoker. There was once a fifteen year period when I did not smoke at all. Then something re-triggered the behavior and, suddenly, I put out more smoke than a coal-burning factory. I know what happened. I went back to school and started directing performances. My primary smoking trigger has always involved performance, particularly directing. During the rehearsal and run of a show, cigarettes become a sort of adult pacifier, calming me and allowing me to function and create. Otherwise, I might curl up into a little fetal ball and whimper. Creativity is stressful. Then the show closes and I become, once again, smoke free. It is not a perfect system, but at least it gives my lungs long breaks.

Then I started writing. Writing is a lot like directing. I am trying to shape something creatively; I am trying to move words around on a page, much like I would move bodies around on stage; I am trying to influence words to produce images and emotion, much like I try to get actors to become a particular character. I could stay with this analogy all day, but the point I am trying to make is that my mind acknowledges the distinct similarities between the two processes, so...writing is a lot like directing. I smoke when I'm directing. I try to write every day. Anyone beginning to understand the problem?

Now, I find myself acknowledging that I have a problem. I have a problem for which there is no end in sight. This show doesn't close. Oh, the specific project on which I'm working comes to an end, but I immediately start another. I try not to take vacations from writing. When I am not physically involved in putting words on paper, my mind is still busily engaged in the creative process, the pre-write, if you will. There are no flags waving that tell me it's time to put the cigarettes down. So I don't.

The thing is that I am almost sixty years old. I am diabetic. I am starting to wheeze. I am not an idiot. Smoking is no longer an option, probably not even for relatively short periods of time. I really have to...oh, the horror...quit. For good. My system has broken down. I don't want to become the casualty of a broken system. I. AM. GOING. TO. QUIT. SMOKING. FOR. GOOD. There. I've put the words down on paper. That's how I make things real.

Prayers, well wishes, and healing thoughts are welcome.