Seven years today, seven years today, I quit, I quit, I quit!
I was sitting on my back door step, dressed as D’Arcy, (it’s a long story, I’m an entertainer, it was post-show, you had to be there). It was snowing. I was realizing that hosiery on stone was not the best option in the snow, when I suddenly knew.
This was it.
It wasn’t a Damascene moment. I wasn’t in the desert, there were no asses (except me), and no blinding light. I was on the ice, in the beautiful Yorkshire Dales, and the hoar frost on my breath was matched only by the smoke.
And I simply thought:
Enough. That’s enough.
I took a long look at that cigarette butt, wept a little, and buried it in my garden.
In my book, I speak of aggressive self pacifism. The ability not to go to war with oneself. To not make quitting a struggle.
To walk away from smoking, you need to walk away from willpower.
Even when you are dressed as an eighteenth century fop………..