Zen

For a brief, delusional period yesterday, I fancied myself one of those rare people who could sit alone on a park bench and actually take in the scenery. I didn't glance at my phone (I didn't even have it on me), nor did I peruse any reading material. Instead, I watched a couple split a burrito and a large woman wearing a sandwich board warn passersby about the dangers of the flu shot. I was ready to congratulate myself on my five minutes of purposeless observation, when I put a cigarette to my lips and exhaled a puff of smoke. That's when I realized I was no different than the other eaters, talkers and smartphoners who couldn't find a reason to sit alone and do nothing.

Worse than this is the 2.01 tendency to be doing two or three somethings at once. When I'm walking down the street, I cannot simply be walking. I have to have my earbuds in. I'm 32. If someone asked me when I was eight if I'd still be listening to my walkman on thrice daily basis when I was 32, I'd think he was crazy. I'd also think 32 was only a short ride away from my grave.

Also extinct: The art of cooly waiting at the bar alone. The company of a stiff drink is no longer enough. Guys, girls, parents even, have to be texting someone, or pretending to text someone, or playing a game on their iPhone. When I'm alone at a bar, I purposely stare off into middle space, concentrating really hard on looking cool with nothing in my hands. It's rather exhausting, really.

My newish, sometimes smoking habit is the closest tool I have to putting me in the moment. Sad, I know. But I think smoking is completely underrated. Which brings me to another benefit of lighting up: since people tend to look down on smokers these days, no one will come near you. You really are all alone in the middle of a wide, open world.