There is a great “no-smoking” public service announcement by John Waters that used to play before B-movies in the 80s. Waters sits in front of the camera with a cigarette dancing between his hand and mouth. He emphasizes the theatre’s no-smoking policy before tearing the rule apart. As Waters sees it, smoking keeps the ushers employed. All the while, the director continues with his deep, cancerous drags.

To a smoker such as myself, Waters’ message exists as a hellish taunt. The words and images of the director tease like an older sibling holding a toy just out of reach. However, this instance of craving frustration has grown into a larger reality for my community of sociable smokers. These limits now extend past a dingy theater. While recent legislation continues to limit the activity, our tobacco addiction remains enjoyably cathartic.

After a year of steady tax increase on tobacco products and a prospective campus-wide ban at the University of Minnesota, many of my hardy-smoking friends continue to pontificate over their unfair losses in the situation. Yet, I have finally started to wonder why we are still all smoking at all.

Old habits die hard, so let me at least give a fair defense for those unwavering smokers of the world. To me, there has always been a fascinating culture around smoking. The activity’s ability to encourage conversation and role as a communal practice has helped in making it my favorite exercise of oral fixation. I also think it makes a person look cool. Call me juvenile, but the ripples of drifting smoke only enhance the semblances of people like Humphrey Bogart or Edward R. Murrow.

For such reasons, it has become a vice that I indulge in frequently with great disregard for personal health. After all, being in the prime of one’s youth does bring about a certain sense of invincibility. Throughout this celebration of my de facto wild years, I have made lengthy arguments for the rights of smokers. I vehemently fought against the campus-wide smoking ban at several symposiums or meetings regarding the matter. I’ve fought for the rights of the bar owners. I’ve even fought for the heavy agricultural economy of tobacco farming. But recently, I have realized that these arguments will never benefit me on a personal level.

I am starting to think about a bigger picture. It is one that transcends the thrill I get from looking like a troublemaker with a Marlboro between my lips. It is true that I am young, and I still consider myself only a boy, but I will not be forever. I am now more gravely conscious of this habit’s consequences than ever before. I think I am going to spend some time exploring the effects of anti-smoking legislation more deeply. Did you know heart attack rates in the U.S. dropped after the implementation of smoking bans?

I purchase a product that could very likely be responsible for my death someday. Going into 2009, 43.4 million other Americans still smoke. It is a habit that takes 443,000 premature lives annually in the U.S. Regardless of my love for the habitual weakness, the benefits have begun to be outweighed by the costs. The prices have yet to discourage me. I still liberally bum cigarettes to friends and strangers who request them. I’m convinced that it is one of the simplest ways to build up a bit of good karma before the habit buries me. However, my newfound mixed feelings rise from the budding acknowledgment that I may not be as invincible as I often insist upon. It is an argument that I had always perceived as largely political, but it has recently become personal.

I have chronic bronchitis from habitually smoking. About four times a year, I will go through violent coughing fits that last about a week or two. I am just coming out of a particularly bad one that arrived with the fall. Last week, I had an especially bad episode during a cigarette. I became extremely light headed and stumbled into a chair on my porch. It became the first time I ever truly questioned the worth of my habit.

I tried to quit once. I spent three days without smoking over winter break last year. By the second day, I was angry with anyone who would speak to me. I ate an obscene amount of junk food in an effort to curb the effects of my withdrawn vice. By the fourth day, I decided that smoking was the easiest solution to my new problems.

This all defines the smoker’s dilemma: How do we sacrifice a horrid vice that brings us such immediate joy? My friends and I have had wonderful conversations over cigarettes. They often last long after the smoke is finished. It is difficult to imagine having a cup of coffee or driving in my best friend’s car without the habit. In my life, the two experiences are bound. Regardless, there must be a personal point for each smoker where the social love for the activity becomes shadowed by the harsh reality of its health effects.

Tags: tobacco