Several times a year, I “give up” smoking. This lasts for a period of X weeks, where X is usually between 1 and 6. Then, one evening out with friends, a few too many drinks and I end up with a cigarette stuffed in my mouth… and my goodness, is it nice. That first smoke after being without for a few weeks is just joyous beyond comprehension — feeling the smoke course into your lungs, the familiar and never forgotten nicotine buzz enhanced a trillion-fold by a few weeks of abstention. I’ve often wondered how long you have to actually give up before your brain lets go and you’re truly free of tobacco. At some point over the next year or three, one of my regular attempts to give up will happen to coincide with a non-stressful period at work and a happy home life (because as any smoker who is trying to give up will tell you: the first sign of serious stress and you just know that you’re going to feel better with a smoke – so before you can say “have you got a lighter, mate?” you’re back to square one) and I’ll be sorted.
For some odd reason, this got me to thinking about love as an addiction. Have you ever been in a relationship that really wasn’t right, split up, and then got back together again a few weeks later? I have. It’s amazing – your brain completely forgets the reasons why you split up in the first place, washes you in happiness hormones and your love addiction is satisfied. Then, a little while later, you remember why you broke up and the whole sequence repeats. That feeling of utter joy and “right-ness” from restarting a relationship lasts about as long as the feeling of satisfaction from restarting smoking: about one day. Then it’s all regret from then on in.
Having been through both the above scenarios (many times for the first, twice for the second), I can’t help but notice the striking similarity between the two.
Much as I hate to take something as wonderful as love and boil it down to science, I’m afraid I’m about to try. Without stating the bloody obvious too clearly: we’re programmed to reproduce. Everything about living systems is all about making more living systems, and love is an amazing mechanism for keeping two suitable breeding partners together for long enough to have babies and bring ‘em up until they’re ready to go out into the big wide world. From some papers, books and studies I’ve read, back in the cave-man days that period of time was about 7 years — the time it took a human newborn to be self-sufficient enough to survive on its own. If you’ve not already made the connection, allow me to do it for you: The Seven Year Itch.
Brushing modern morality under the carpet for a while, things were a lot simpler 20,000 years ago and natural selection was entirely responsible for the ongoing development of human beings. An attractive, healthy, strong man with good providing skills would easily find a partner. Chemistry kicks in, he falls in love and sticks around long enough for the the baby to reach some degree of maturity, and then fucks off and finds someone else thus spreading his (desirable) genes far and wide. As bloody heartless as it sounds, from a pure biological standpoint, this process makes a lot of sense: it allows natural selection to do its job as effectively as possible and is responsible for the fact that humans exist at all along with all the other wonderful natural beauty that we are surrounded in, like this guy, but hell, you don’t need links from me – look out of your window.
Modern times are not like this at all, of course, as a new born human being requires considerably more than 7 years to be ready for independence (and not all couples necessarily desire children), but that doesn’t mean that the primitive feelings in the depths of our minds are still not there. Maybe we are fighting our primitive genetic programming, our hormones and our chemicals every day to defeat nature for the benefit of longer term relationships. and modern times Maybe love is an addiction that just runs itself out after seven years without something else to prop it up. I’m rapidly learning what those “something else’s” could be — and just in time, too, because I don’t wish to grow old alone. I want to share my life with someone, and not for just seven years.
It’s a pity smoking isn’t like that because it’s a filthy habit and I’d love to wake up one day and think “hey, I don’t need a smoke at all”. In the meanwhile, I’m cutting down (honest!) and new laws in England coming into force on the 1st July will make it much harder for me to fail in one of my regular giving up attempts – no more smoking in bars, restaurants, offices and pubs: and the last four times I restarted, three were at the pub, one was at the office so I should be covered.
As a few final tit-bits, not one soul has added me to MSN and said hello. Either no-one other than karalina is reading the posts beyond the keywords, or you all fear talking to me. As related tit-bit, in a comment to yesterday’s girl-to-boy dictionary post, karalina (who I’m beginning to think is my only reader :-)) had this to say:
“Maybe we all need to go back to a time when communication was more primitive (i.e. “Me, Tarzan. You, Jane. Let’s fuck?”)”
She was kidding, but by jupiter, does she have a point, or what? Wouldn’t life be so much simpler if it was easy as that? :-) I wonder how many times I’d be slapped in the face in one night if I tried that technique at a wine bar? Could be a new world record…
