Today I got a call from California Kick It to check in on my progress. They call from time to time, like a lighthouse in the fog, just to see what’s working and what isn’t. They don’t bark orders. They don’t hand down commandments. They ask questions. They listen. Imagine that.
It’s a little like having a sponsor from the 12 steps, except no one is trying to rearrange your personality or confiscate your free will. They tailor suggestions to the quitter, not the other way around. Revolutionary concept.
I told them the truth. I’ve been cutting back. Only a few and I'm on third day smoke free. Real progress. Not perfection, not sainthood, not some dramatic “last cigarette ever” speech with violins swelling in the background. Just progress. Harm reduction in real life. Measured. Honest. Sustainable.
They were interested in what’s helping. And the answer is simple.
Art.
And Whiskey Kitty.
Art gives my hands something to do besides reaching for a lighter. Whiskey Kitty gives my heart something to do besides reaching for nicotine. Between watercolor palettes and tuxedo paws, my nervous system has competition.
Last night I didn’t paint.
That’s dangerous ground for an artist.
The previous painting didn’t come out the way I wanted, and I let that little inner critic start sharpening his knives. Artists know that voice. It shows up wearing a black turtleneck and carrying a clipboard. “Not your best work, Dan.” “Perspective’s off.” “Color’s muddy.” It’s exhausting.
A professional jazz musician once told me something I’ve never forgotten. He said the moment you think it’s good or it’s bad, you’ve already lost it.
At first that sounded mystical, like something said under dim blue stage lights at 2 a.m. But the more I think about it, the more I understand.
Art is not a verdict.
Art is not a courtroom.
Art is not a thought.
Art is an action.
You do it.
You move the brush. You trace the line. You mix the pigment. You play the note. You keep going.
The thinking comes later, if at all. When you’re in it, when you’re moving, when you’re making, you aren’t judging. You’re participating. The further you go, the more you know. And knowledge in art doesn’t come from sitting back with crossed arms. It comes from doing the next stroke.
Some paintings will be good.
Some won’t.
Some will surprise me.
And maybe one will sneak up and become a masterpiece when I wasn’t even trying.
That’s how quitting works too.
If I sit around judging the process, I lose it. “Was today perfect?” “Did I slip?” “Am I winning?” That’s all thought. But if I treat quitting as an action instead of a philosophy, I just do the next right thing. Don’t buy the pack. Take the call. Pet the cat. Mix the paint. Move forward.
California Kick It checks in, and I check in with myself.
Today I’m not chasing perfection. I’m chasing momentum.
The cigarettes don’t need a dramatic breakup speech. They just need less and less of my time. Meanwhile, my art gets more. Whiskey Kitty gets more. My lungs get more.
Some days will be exceptional.
Some days will be ordinary.
And maybe one day I’ll look back and realize the masterpiece wasn’t a painting at all.
It was the life I rebuilt in the process.
Once again, I got this. 🐾🎨
by Dan and Bonkers
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