In 2018, I visited Cuba with 7 of my closest friends from school. The 8 of us dudes wandered about Cuba smoking cigars, drinking mojitos, and eating the communist pork and bread. Over the 8 days there, we smoked between 150 and 200 cigars as a group. Aside from smoking them, we also saw how they were made in the Viñales Valley on the West side of the island. We stumbled upon a tobacco farm during a bike ride and got acquainted with the tour guide/grandson of an old cigar roller who showed us how cigars used to be rolled by hand and pressed into shape. His farm was a perfect place for us to enjoy an afternoon cigar or two.
While there, we were told that we should only smoke the first two-thirds of a cigar. As the cigar burns, the nicotine builds up in the third of the cigar closest to your mouth. If you smoke all of it, then you end up consuming more nicotine than you should, the taste will not be as good, and the smoke that enters your mouth will be too hot. This was disappointing news to me.
Good quality cigars are rarely cheap (except when you buy in bulk in Bolivia or Cuba). For someone as “frugal” as I am, the idea that I shouldn’t smoke what would probably amount to another 15 minutes worth of what I see as an already expensive activity was hard to process. However, the cigars were plentiful on our trip and we all probably benefited from this advice at the time. This technique taught us to savor the first two-thirds without pushing too far and reaching a point where we were doing more harm than good.
In the 5 years since the trip, I certainly have smoked far more than the first two-thirds of most of the cigars I have had. I often lack the self control to stop myself from doing something that I am enjoying. Nevertheless, I really have had all that I need and should recognize that it is time to quit before I am forced to by the burning of my fingertips. Seems a nice metaphor for life.
I spent the end of 2022 walking on average 10 kilometers a day for 90 days straight. When I started, I both needed to lose a few pounds and become more of a part of Buenos Aires. I didn’t know how to get around that well nor did I have as busy of a life as I like. Walking for about 2 hours a day got me active and less worried about being semi-employed or in a new place without much social life. I noticed that I had a more positive outlook and generally maintained good “mental health.” It also gave me a reason to publicly call myself “The Walking Gringo” and to attempt developing a writing habit.
Still, 90 days was a lot. I felt like I was forcing myself past the point of enjoyment as well as keeping myself from other pursuits that needed my attention. I was walking “the bottom third.” My journey had served me well for a while, but, near the end, I didn’t feel as much of a benefit and grew somewhat bitter about my having to walk so much. I needed to keep my large audience entertained, informed, and inspired by my journey, so I pressed on. Like smoking the last inch of a too hot cigar, I was walking too long on the treadmill in my parents’ basement the day before Christmas Eve.
I guess this is really just a “knowing when to quit” kind of idea. I think we all have parts of our lives that need to be quit before they turn too hot and full of nicotine. Friends, habits, vices, and schools of political thought are a few examples that come to mind.
I am currently thinking about two things that may stop being as rewarding as they started out as in my life. I might be getting a little too into lifting weights. I try to go to the gym 5 or 6 days a week and am definitely beyond functional strength in my upper body. I now have great, walloping breasts (well, not really). I still enjoy it and like converting fat to muscle, but I am cautious about getting too into lifting without some sort of outlet or sport for my strength. If I ever look ridiculous, please tell me.
I am also reflecting on moving around so much. Last night I talked to an American woman who had lived in Zambia, China, Singapore, Costa Rica, and now Argentina. She worked for the embassy in each country and will likely continue to move every three years until the end of her career. For having lived in so many countries with such different cultures, she was not particularly interesting. In fact, I found her pretty insufferable. I guess that’s besides the point. It felt like none of those places really meant a lot to her. It felt that where she was really living was “away.” Away from something, someone, or maybe just responsibility to a place. I imagine that I may come off as the same to some onlooker. Having bounced around since college, it could seem like I am doomed to be endlessly wandering.
I am leaving that thought a little bit open ended. I could, of course, defend my position and complain a little bit about the US. However, I’ll save all of that for other posts.
Like a cigar, we burn hot in our 20’s and whether I am making a consistently right or wrong decision will probably only be figured out by me in the decades to come. For now, there is certainly a lot left to savor for me with Luciana here in Buenos Aires.
