Smoke Ring

I stared at my friends in disbelief: since when did we take cigarette breaks in the middle of dinner? This wasn't the regular dingy diner or fast-food dump that we usually settled on; this was a legitimate, expensive restaurant. We had dressed up for this evening, pulled precious money out of the ATM and gathered together at this restaurant to celebrate a friend's birthday. What's more, we waited two hours to get into this popular place, chain-smoking in the parking lot while complaining about our growling stomachs. So why, then, were all 10 of us now getting up from the table, abandoning half-eaten appetizers, and acting so completely unconcerned that our meal might arrive before we returned? Had we, as intelligent, well-informed college students, really allowed ourselves to progress in our own addictions to the point where we couldn't handle two hours without a cigarette?

The answer was obvious when I stood to follow my friends out of the restaurant. I wasn't craving a cigarette, but I didn't want to be left alone at the table either. It was at this moment, just before I turned to leave, when I realized that my addiction to smoking was far too absurd to carry on. This is not to say that other equally pathetic moments hadn't made me doubt the logic of that addiction, but this one, in particular, had produced a question that really grated on my mind: in order to quit smoking cigarettes, would I also have to quit the social situations that surround those cigarettes?

Clearly, I thought, there is more to this kind of addiction than just physical dependence. If that were not true, no one, including me, would ever start smoking. I was brought up in a zero-substance-tolerant family—the kind of family that actively responded to those "talking to your kids prevents smoking" ads. Not only was I aware that smoking is a bad idea, but I made it through elementary-, middle- and high-school health classes by writing informative reports and making colorful posters that displayed the dangers of cigarette smoke. What's more, I watched my own grandfather drown in his unhealthy habit, pack after pack, sucking down those Marlboro Reds till the day he died. I've been informed. I've seen firsthand. And I still chose to smoke, but my addiction was based on something else.

Many addictions, like alcohol, start out as social enhancers. Cigarettes are no different. When I got into college, all of my knowledge of their harmfulness only produced the opposite effect. I liked the careless image it portrayed and the people it invited. Instead of standing around awkwardly at parties, I was always in the company of a cigarette; I knew that others would eventually join me. These occasional cigarettes became more frequent as I made more friends. After the addiction settled in, they became "homework breaks" and stress lifters. By my junior year of college, almost all of my friends smoked. And, without noticing it, we all encouraged each other to increase our individual habits; someone was always lighting a cigarette and the rest of us, like sheep, would follow. It was a social thing; we'd follow even when we didn't have cravings.

I learned to connect social situations, bonding, and even intimate relationships to these so-called cancer sticks. It was impossible for me to quit cigarettes without ditching my friends unless I learned to disassociate, to re-invent my mind's image of social conduct. It was difficult and took a lot of strength to gather up the will to quit. I was worried about gaining weight, about failing, about timing it right, but mostly I was worried about not being able to hang out with my friends if I didn't smoke—the temptation would be too great.

These worries made me see how much these cigarettes, my "social buddies," had begun to stalk me. They had followed me out of social situations (back to my anti-substance-abuse home) and had even made my friendships seem conditional on whether or not I was a smoker. All of this in addition to the inevitable health risks, the yellowing teeth, the raspy voice and wrinkled skin that were looming in my future.