The Table

Did you know that I was a smoker? Not a casual smoker. A dedicated, hard core, professional, I'm-never-going-to-quit smoker. At least a pack a day. In fact, I used to say that they were the best 20 friends I ever had, as they were there for me at any moment, for any reason.

This table was on my porch for years. It held my ashtray, my bucket of lighters that I inadvertently stole from other smokers, and my larger bucket for dumping the ashtray sat underneath it.

I could often be found on the porch with a cup of coffee and a cigarette. From there I could watch the kids in the living room or down below playing. From the porch I could see my friend's porch across the way. From the porch I could talk with my neighbors while staying respectful and keeping my smoke to myself. From the porch I could conduct important phone calls, get my reading and homework done, and even just catch some quiet time.

The table is representative of that porch, as I don't live there anymore. The table is representative of my time as a single mother, doing the best I could with what I knew how to do and what I had. The table is representative of a time when I did take a few minutes for myself, several times a day, to escape whatever was making me feel sad or anxious or angry or frustrated. The table is representative of my former identity as a smoker.

My entire life was wrapped up in smoking; would I be able to smoke wherever I was going? Could I smoke on the way there, right before I went in, how soon after could I smoke? I had a favorite airport simply because each terminal has its own entrance, making it far easier to sit outside and smoke while waiting for a flight, as the security lines were always quite short.

Much of my work day was spent watching the clock, just waiting for my next chance to smoke.My breaks at work were often spent forgoing eating in favor of smoking, but if I really was hungry, I'd do both at the same time. Smoking was a bigger priority than using the restroom. If it was really cold or raining, I'd sit in my car to smoke. But one thing was consistent...I never missed a break.

There was a point in time when I quit smoking, and actually stuck with it for longer than a day. It was almost a year, I think. I gained weight, probably around 7 pounds, but enough to make me feel crappy about myself. The habits of smoking were still taunting me, reminding me of the social interactions I was missing out on, the satisfying first drag after a shitty day at work, the perfect cigarette with that first sip of coffee, and a beer just wasn't the same.

My dad, who lived in Texas, passed away. I took my family down to take care of the arrangements and came back a smoker again. Those best friends were waiting for me, and I found them.

Some things changed this time. I started to hide it more, especially from my kids. I felt shame and guilt. I was more aware of the smell. I started to describe each cigarette as one of the last ones until XYZ could happen so I could finally quit. Excuse after excuse, cigarette after cigarette, I continued to allow myself to live a life of habits that were no longer serving me.

I am no longer a smoker.

This table has been sitting in my home office, holding piles of junk, which I called "organized clutter". Papers that needed to be filed, brainstorming sessions that never came to fruition, and books claimed the surface of this table. This table had become a place for me to hold onto old habits, tangible proof of my dreams never being acted upon, and excuses as to why I was not able to let go of the very things that were no longer serving me.

My identity is no longer as a smoker. It’s not even as a former smoker. My identity is much more broad than that now, because I made the choice to let go of the old habits, the dreams that never came alive, and the excuses to not let go.

The table is gone. No longer am I allowing myself to have yet another flat surface to hold my junk. I am forced to deal with it as it comes up, rather than make excuses and push it off until later. No longer am I allowing myself to hold onto pieces of my old identity that don’t make any f*cking sense to hold onto!

Every day we have a choice as to who we want to be, where we want to be, and how we’re going to get there. All day long we make choices that determine how quickly we grow and evolve. Do you have your own table that is holding you back from becoming who you want to be? What is on your table? And how long are you going to let that shit sit there before you choose to clear it off and start over with a crystal clear mind?

Not sure where to start? Schedule a FREE 30 minute chat with me HERE.

//://://://

Be Well!