All that hate and all those lies takes a lot of energy. But worst of all I knew that I didn’t hate smoking at all. I knew that it was exploiting a little particle of possibility inside of me: The possibility that I hated myself. The smoking attached itself to that part of me that could believe that my life was not worth living. And I absolutely hated that.
I have done some amazing things in my life through shear force of spirit: no more amazing than I would expect of any human being in my situation. But this becoming a non smoker is right up there with discovering pieces of my fathers plane in the Simeon mountains of Ethiopia at 29 years of age. This is up there with meeting my mother at 21 years of age. This is up there with walking off stage to see Paul McCartney applauding in the wings or interviewing Emperor Haile Selassie’s official photographer for The World Service.
I stopped smoking. I had the good fortune and the good grace in Sardinia to say no. I won’t spend thirty to forty times a day reminding myself how much I hate myself. So guess what I do with all that time I have? Besides the fact my productivity levels have gone through the roof. It’s nothing special. No great shakes. It’s simple. What I do with all that time is live. I just live and its “Pretty Good”.