My Quit Clock is sacred. (Yes, I said sacred.)
Why?
Because, too many times before, it never was.
Because, 502 days ago, I held nothing but the sad pieces of all my shattered ol’ quit clocks - toothless gears and rusted sprockets - like handfuls of tarnished regret and shame. That’s about all I had to show for my past efforts: the wreckage of mistakes.
There was nothing sacred in hoarding the rubble of the past.
Because I ruined too many calendars, each so full of promising quit dates: 10/10/10, 11/11/11, New Year’s Day, Martin Luther King, Jr. Day (“Free at last, free at last…”), Independence Day…all wasted. Too many Square Ones in the garbage, ruined and discarded.
There was nothing sacred in kicking my can of failures down the same worn-out road.
Too many broken clocks already.
So, how much is enough? How much more wreckage can the shoulders bear? How low must we sink before we finally accept that maybe - just maybe - we deserve to earn something greater than?
So now, for once in my life, I have an authentic Quit Clock that is accurate and honest…and cherished. I took the time to build this one - by hand, by plan, and by choice - and I’m as proud to honor this timepiece as I am proud of caring for the quit it represents.
To some, a quit meter is just a widget. To me, it's not just a counter, ticking off the days since I stopped using cigarettes. No, this one of mine is also a compass, a sextant, a sundial, a barometer, a calendar, measuring how far, how long, how high I have risen up toward something greater than my past.
It measures redemption.
Finally, and it’s about time.
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