Today marks two full months since I quit smoking — sixty days, nearly nine weeks, 1,440 hours, and yes, I’m counting every single one because each one matters. Looking back, it’s hard to believe how much has changed in such a short stretch of time.
There have been family rewards, moments of real healing, and the unexpected arrival of the newest member of our household: Whiskey the Kitty, my tiny fur-ball personal trainer. She has no idea she’s helping save my lungs, but she takes her job seriously. I run up and down the stairs to check on her, chase her when she rockets across the house like she’s late for a feline board meeting, and clean up after her adventures. Exercise? Covered.
Mom and I have been patching things up too — slowly, naturally, in a way that feels real. Quitting smoking and the cancer scare helped open that door. Less smoke, less stress, less chaos. More laughter. More conversations. More peace in the house.
I’ve also found myself watching the other stuff: caffeine, sugar, and anything else that spikes the nerves or messes with my breathing. And out of respect for my family — and honestly, for myself — I’m maintaining abstinence from alcohol and cannabis. That one choice has made everything cleaner, simpler, and steadier.
What once felt like the hardest mountain — quitting smoking — now feels like a mountain I’ve already climbed. The cravings that once screamed are now barely a whisper. The fear that I couldn’t do this has been replaced with a solid, quiet confidence.
Two months in, I’m proud of myself. And more importantly, I’m ready for whatever the next important thing in my life is.
I got this.
by Dan and Bonkers
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