A Short Rant About Cigarette Butts, Along with a Rave About Writing as a Habit: Creatures of Habit

The end of our driveway is littered with cigarette butts.

Occasionally, I overcome my squeamishness enough to pick them up for proper disposal, and we have a clean drive for about a day.

English: A cigarette butt, lying in dirty snow. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Still, by the time I go out to get the mail again, more butts have appeared.

No one in our house smokes so I was initially mystified by the origin of these bits of trash. But I think I’ve finally figured it out.

You see, we live on a major road — a state highway that runs between two interstates. More to the point, we live between two semi-major towns surrounded by several suburbs. This means the commuter traffic on our street is especially busy in the morning and evening. 

Now, my morning routine is pretty, well, routine. I get up, dress, make a pot of tea, eat my Kashi and drink a cuppa, fix a commuter mug for the road and a one for my husband who’s generally still in bed (he pays me back by providing the tea service on the weekends).  Then, I hop in my car and head to work.

My theory about the cigarette buts is there are lots of other folks whose morning activities are just as automatic. And when some of them get in their cars, they light up their first cigarette of the day, which happens to finish just about the time they pass our house.

Every single day.

Yeah, I know. Lucky us.

Still, this says a lot about the strength of habits. And when I look on those butts trashing up our property, they remind me to make sure the habits I’m forming are good ones — like writing every day, eating healthy meals and exercising.

And maybe picking up the garbage at the end of the drive a little more often.