I smoked cigarettes for 25 years. More than half my life. I stopped because I reached a point where I recognized not only that I don’t heal as quickly as I did when I was 20, but because I had finally reached a point where I decided it was time to actively do things to prove I like myself.

I can say it all day long, I like myself, I think I’m grand, I am so pretty, look at my cute feets! or whatever. But if I’m not doing the thing to prove the words true, they ring hollow. I did not consciously stop smoking to prove that I like myself, but it was a side-effect I became aware of in the days following. If anyone is wondering, I just stopped. No patch, no gum, no transition to vaping or whatever the kids are into these days. I set a date, a time and that was it. It was as though a light switch turned off. It worked because I was ready. That’s usually how it goes though. And so the same could be said for me actively taking on or letting go of habits which suggest I do indeed like myself, and consider that I am worthy of good health and wellness. I don’t deserve to be punished via slow poison, whether that’s nicotine based or pollutive thoughts which become fact, regardless of their having no basis in reality.

If I’m walking down the street and  I smell someone smoking, it disgusts me. There is no appeal to that scent whatsoever. What does this have to do with pheromones? Well, I don’t totally understand how they work, where they live, etc. However there is this pretty fine individual I hang out with sometimes, and he smokes. And somehow, I don’t mind the smell of them even a little bit. So whatever pheromones are meant to do, obviously works pretty well.

Oh biological imperative, you saucy minx.

Photo by Katarzyna Urbanek on Unsplash