Two years ago today, I started referred to myself as a non-smoker. Ironically enough, I had to get sick (with a bad cold) as the impetus to get better again.
It’s odd to think of myself as a non-smoker after spending nearly 10 years of my life addicted to cigarettes. Sometimes, I figured I would “get over it,” other times I thought I’d never be able to kick the habit.
I wish I could tell you what the secret to quitting was, short of finally setting my mind to it, and being a Stubborn Irish Ass about sticking to it.
The last time I smoked, my brand was $5.75-ish a pack, and I was a pack-every-two-days smoker. The rough math leads to $2,100 in saved dollars and 7,300 cigarettes not smoked. I’ve plowed that money into a brokerage account with Charlie for our Someday House, and for my health, I see a personal trainer once a week, and am rebuilding my body.
It took me a long time to get to the quitting point, but I feel no shame in that, because I’m so glad I can say I’m two years smoke-free.