A Good Cigar

A bad cigar is a disappointment; the reminder of bad decisions and poor judgment. Although bad cigars in advantageous in one aspect. A bad cigar leads me to be more motivated and patient to only smoke the great ones.)

A good cigar is like a great thought or memory; it lingers, fueling daydreams and musings.

I want to give tribute to the good cigar. An ode. To the great cigar.

The process of sitting down–and slowing down—and enjoying a cigar has become something of a small ritual for me.

It’s the height of cognitive dissonance, I suppose, to smoke cigars. I never reached health nut status, but I tend to be health-conscious. I know smoking is a risky affair. In general, it is a nasty habit–cigarettes especially. But I made an exception for cigars and perceived them as something different. 

In contrast, cigars seem more toned down, and composed– missing the neuroticism and the anxiety of the action of cigarette smoking.  I find them more sensory, too. Cigars have more captivating scents, similar to how coffee or campfires can stimulate us. And I always found the thicker and denser smoke much more wistful and visual.

That curling dancing smoke can carry me back to distant memories. That white smoke carried by the wind is one thing I remember about the first time I tried a cigar so long ago. On a late spring evening, just warm enough to sit outside in comfort. The spices filled the air as I sat and wondered of many things.

A few nights ago, on another warm spring night, I sat outside on the rooftop and enjoyed a phenomenal cigar. I tasted spices and pepper flavors. Above me, clouds rolled steadily, and my shoulders relaxed. I watched the smoke as it carried me to other places, to peaceful places and future plans.

The ritual of enjoying a great cigar makes me want to encapsulate that moment and remember: those wonderful aromas, those subtle flavors; but also those few hours of solace, the conversations I’ve had over cigars, and the people I visited. I realize too, that the ritual I practice is one of impermanence, and by its nature– can only be experienced so briefly–like smoky, spring-time cigars, on a tranquil April night.