Perhaps that’s overstating it, but Pres. Obama signed an anti-smoking bill into law today, and talked about his own struggles to quit the nasty habit.
Which brings us to our Daily Reflective Moment (that I just made up but it’s my blog so there):
What’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to quit?
I’ll go first (see “it’s my blog,” etc.):
I had a boyfriend in my early college years who wasn’t a bad boyfriend, but he certainly wasn’t a good one. He enjoyed being the boss, and I believe that for his future wife, he would have been happy with a fairly submissive woman.
Not me, in other words, yet I was sure that — say it with me now – if I just stayed with him (and no, his name wasn’t Jesus, this is a different boyfriend), he’d Change and Become My Perfect Boyfriend, and we’d marry (in the church, of course) and raise up our children in the way that they should go and when they were old, they would not depart from me.
You know the drill.
But within the confines (yes, I use that word freely) of the relationship, I started compromising more and more. My bad boyfriend was not effusive, but he gave me just enough attention so that I, like a stray cat, kept coming back. I Made It Work.
Looking back, he was dismissive and not terribly kind. Again, it could have been much worse, but the relationship felt like it was shrinking — and me along with it — and one night when he started talking about the ranch he would one day own, I sat there half-listening because I realized I had no desire to live on a ranch. None. None whatsoever, not even a little bit.
Nor did I want a vanload of kids. Or a van. And I didn’t much want to attend church, either, and that would have been a problem as his father was an elder in our church and thus needed to pretty much have all his familial ducks in a row and our butts in a pew in order to keep his position.
Even with that realization, it was harder than pulling my own teeth with rusty pliers getting out of the relationship because in my head, we were long-term. In my head, I was going to Make This Work.
So I left, came back, left, came back and thus earned the title of Crazy Girlfriend ’80 and ’81.
I probably stopped thinking about him a few years after that and if I saw him on the street today, I doubt I’d recognize him. I stopped wishing for him a boring life a few years after that. I’m small like that. Now, I don’t wish him anything. No, that’s not true. I hope he’s had a nice life. I think age does that to you.
And that, DJers, is how I quit whatzisname. Your turn.