Ledger

Quitting smoking is easy. I was a bona-fide non-smoker for twelve years. I wrinkled my nose at smokers with my hypocritical self-satisfaction we all feel when we aren’t the ones doing something stupid for a change. About a year and half ago I resumed smoking in honor of my divorce, presuming that I could always quit again, and I have. Like I said, quitting is easy. Now, I do it at least three or four times each month. It is, however, easier to “unquit,” which I also do three or four times a month.

Finally, fed up by my inability to climb a flight of stairs without channeling the Big Bad Wolf, I’ve found myself willing to try quit-smoking schemes I would have formerly scoffed at. I’ve actually written down infomercial numbers. I’ll never actually call them, but writing down anything from an infomercial was a major sign of desperation for me. I was willing to give just about anything a shot.

I start, as usual, with cold turkey. My resolve, as usual, carries me for about three days. Day one, I am chilled steel, wearing the mask and all that. By day two I decide that resolve does not cover rocky-road ice cream binges, multiple pots of coffee, and the nervous gnawing of plastic straws. On day three I have an insomniac half-waking dream that I’m eating champagne brunch with Joe Camel and the cast of “Cheers.” I wake up bleary-eyed, semi-delirious, and susceptible to the evil wiles of big tobacco.

Increasingly desperate, I actually agree to listen to a CD that my dear non-smoking friend ordered from a self-help author. I would normally be suspicious of anything originating from a self-help author, but the CD is “100 percent guaranteed or your money back!” The certainty of success makes me hesitant, and it sits in my CD tray for a couple of days. Finally, I have to drive from Seattle to Tacoma and thus have a couple of hours freed up for in-car self-improvement. Mr. Guarantee begins by emphasizing how easy it is to quit smoking; we only think it’s hard because the cigarette companies bribed Hollywood producers to convince us that it is hard. We just need to stop believing that it’s difficult, and then it won’t be.

Why didn’t I think of that? Like good televangelists and self-help-types everywhere, Mr. G. has lots of little catchphrases. Unfortunately, most of them are painfully irritating. His favorite is apparently “Alpo dog food.” He mentions Alpo incessantly, as though it were his strongest point: “Would you eat Alpo Dog Food? I wouldn’t eat Alpo dog food. If someone offers you a cigarette, it’s like being offered Alpo dog food. No thanks, not me! I don’t want any Alpo dog food!” I decide to start counting the number of times he says the A-word. By twelve, I am alternating smoking and laughing. It’s a productive car ride; I reclaim my self-help derision and my smoking habit simultaneously.

Having swallowed my pride thus far, I sign up for the smoking cessation program through the Seattle Campus. The first part consists of my logging every cigarette I smoke, time of day, how I’m feeling, and the behavior that “triggered” the cigarette. The idea is that you can identify behaviors linked to smoking, and alter you behaviors. I begin enthusiastically; compiling lists always feels like progress to me.

After a few days a clear pattern emerges. My triggers are: socializing, being alone, reading, doing homework, drinking coffee, drinking beer, driving, worrying, not worrying, and especially writing newspaper articles on smoking. Essentially, if I am awake, I am undergoing one of my “triggers.” Since inducing a coma is not much of an option, I am discouraged by this, which I tell the director of the program when he calls.

He is encouraging, but doesn’t really tell me anything I want to hear, like: “click your heels three times and say ‘there’s no organ like lungs,’ and you’ll be an ex-smoker.” Instead he talks about things like effort and rewards for altered behavior. The log lasts a week before I decide an unacknowledged cigarette is probably a healthier one.

After stewing in discouragement, I have a revelation on how to control smoking. I call it Warm Turkey. The basic idea is this: when you can’t achieve at a certain level, lower your expectations. Having effectively demonstrated that my self-discipline is not up to the task of actually reducing my smoking habit, I have simply altered my goal. Now, I aim to contain my current smoking habit, like commies in the 1950s. Thus, I have successfully determined not to create any new “triggers.” I may or may not increase or decrease the frequency of my current triggers, but I am not going to smoke while performing neurosurgery, poaching tigers, or refereeing for the NFL. I am proud to report that this approach has been absolutely failsafe and effortless.

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