The courage of smoking

Smoking is a courageous gesture. The publisher, a non-smoker who spends himself on virtuous campaigns in favour of strong values of the moment, health and sustainability in the first place, will fire me.

I start again, smoking is a courageous gesture. Among the many vices that best hide the danger to life, the smoke goes directly down to the lung and trigger the chemistry of incurable disease. Without ifs and buts.  If when you are born you already know how it will end, a sentence, in the ranking of written sentences, smoking is in the second place. By smoking, you will almost certainly reach the unmentionable point. Smoking reminds me of the daredevils of the First World War time. They were the ones who came out of the trenches first to launch themselves towards the enemy, knowing of an almost certain sacrifice. Anyway many of them chose this part, for a hidden and indescribable pleasure of courage.

Smoking is choosing this part. In exchange of what? Five minutes, multiplied several times in a day, in order of: extreme pleasure, total relaxation, calm, mind free to fly as you please.

Few values such as courage give a value to human solidity and the experience of life. Moreover, if we put the courage of the smoker into many actions of our daily life, the optimism that I often praise would have a strong ally for many objectives. Yes, smoking is bad etc. etc., but… and yet you smoke. Because someone claims that nicotine improves learning skills, memory, support the effort of work. And after so much effort, after the many efforts we put together in our life, the cigarette… wow! I would add, the postures: if you smoke as a boy you grow up sooner, with a tone that only cigarette can amplify.

Well, in my smoker experience I do not remember anything I enjoyed as much as smoking a cigarette. A gesture, a valid refuge for many situations, fear, shyness, relaxation, rest, reflection, study, work. Well, as I use to say, after this nice puff, to the point: I am a former smoker, who has lost the courage of this gesture, like the courage of many gestures. I miss it so much, damn cigarette. Many look at me as the one, in good company, who heroically gave up. Brave gesture? Yes, but not comparable with the courage to continue.

Even more so if I think back to the words of my friend Angelo, still a smoker, who sees my physical efforts that have replaced smoking and often repeats to me: think about if one day, while you pedal on the street, they hit you. I will have to come to your funeral with a cigarette in my mouth, aware that you have quit smoking, but deep down you were in pain every time you saw someone with a cigarette in his mouth. And I suffer. But don’t tell anyone. In my heart, I think it’s not over yet.

Philip Morris, do I get some money for this campaign?

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