The smallest promise you'll keep

Forget forever. The craving loves to drag the rest of your life onto the table. Every morning? Every party? Every bad day, for good? That question is heavy on purpose. You don't have to answer it today. You only have to answer for the next five minutes.

It hauls in forever because it can't win five minutes. Urges peak and pass within minutes, and it knows it. So it tries to scare you with the whole mountain. And a few minutes was all the cigarette ever handed you. A little calm it had stolen from you first.

Set a timer for five minutes. Do it now. For those five minutes, you won't smoke. That's the whole deal. It's shorter than the time you spend picking something to watch. Say this to God as you tap start. I'll take these five, God. You take the rest.

When it rings, check in. Still loud? Sign up for another five. Nobody's counting how many it takes. You're allowed to get through this hour in pieces. Each one you finish is a small promise kept, and kept promises stack. The first five are already running, and you're winning them.