Day 1 (attempt #1,289)

It was a grey and wet spring day the first time I smoked.

I was 17 and during my lunch break, I walked to a creek near my high school with two friends, both experienced smokers.

We stood under a willow tree near the creek, and I was handed a small shitty pipe stuffed with schwag.

My friend lit it, I inhaled, then coughed my lungs out. I don’t even remember if I was high.

That started a relationship with marijuana that’s lasted 10 years.

It hurts to think of how much of the past decade of my life I’ve spent high.

There’s been some good moments during this journey. A lot of laughter. A lot of good times with friends. Sometimes a special kind of present moment attention that only drugs can really bring.

But there’s also been a lot of pain. A lot of social isolation. A lot of questioning what exactly I’m chasing or trying to achieve through smoking this plant.

There’s been a lot of back and forth on whether or not I should just quit for good. There’s been a lot of broken promises to myself and others.

And now here I am, in my late 20’s and not feeling particularly overjoyed with my state of existence. Or the life stresses that are made 10x harder by living a mental fog.

I’ve tried and failed to quit many times before, and I don’t know if this one will be any different.

But if it is the one that sticks, I want to be able to look back on these words and be proud of making a very difficult life change.

Yesterday was day 1 of not getting high. Here’s to one more day and one more try.