I have worked from home or at least hybrid for the better part of a decade. Along the way, I have grappled with being always on, an endless list of unorthodox distractions, uncomfortable work locations, but most of all, a sense of loneliness and disconnection. This loneliness has some strange side effects, like talking to myself (a lot), odd eating habits, fighting the urge to choose a podcast over chill music, pacing like a caged animal to think, and the occasional anxiety attack, but one thing always tends to recenter me before I spiral into unproductive mode: A lunt
If you are behind a paywall, check out this and our other content free at lifeofcompoundinginterest.com
If you are not familiar with the term, to go lunting is to walk and smoke a pipe. I have been a casual pipe smoker since college. It started as a quirk in college, but eventually became a relaxing hobby. While I enjoy a cigar every now and then, cigars are a social vice, best in the company of others, and normally made better with a drink. A decent cigar needs about an hour of investment to sit and enjoy it, and the smell can follow you for days, which most people, female partners especially, find off-putting. Furthermore, they have been rising in cost, where a single cigar will run $10–20, and in this economy, I am finding few things to celebrate.
Pipes are different. A pipe is a personal practice, to pack, light, and manage a smoke; it takes attention and skill to get the most out of it. A poor pack will drive you crazy from needing to relight. Smoke it too hot, and you will burn all the flavor from your tobacco and the taste buds right off your tongue. This level of attention requires you to focus on the task at hand and watch for changes. The tobacco hits differently from other forms of tobacco. Nicotine content and additives are typically lower in pipe smoking, so where a strong cigar, cigarettes, hookah, and vapes can all leave you with a bit of lightheadedness and a queasy stomach, a pipe rarely does.
I won’t argue that it is a healthy habit, but few vices are. Still, I would take the risks associated with my 1–3 pipes per week over drinking habits or any other smoking method that requires additives and inhaling into your lungs (Don’t inhale pipe or cigar smoke into your lungs. You will have a bad time.) As someone who is aware of my addictive tendencies and who once smoked cigarettes, has dealt with some alcohol dependence, and can completely recognize a complete psychological and biological dependency on caffeine, I can say that I have never felt addicted to my pipes. In winter, I may go weeks or months without one, because freezing or being scolded for smoking inside would take all the joy from my pipe experience.
Because smoking a pipe is about concentration and contemplation, it facilitates my appreciation for art. Reading a book pairs so well with a pipe, writing too. While music is a great love of my life, it shapes experiences. I can sit with my pipe in complete silence and meditate on my thoughts for longer amounts of time. Many of the greatest writers and thinkers embraced pipe smoking, even when alternatives were readily available. Not for the nicotine, but the ritual, the calmness, and the way it focuses thought like few other things we can partake in.
Walking during the workday is a great way to change up an environment and get your thoughts out of a rut. There is something special about moving when you need to think something through. In one startup I worked at, walking meetings were encouraged. It may have been one of the best practices I have found in an office experience, and one I try to take with me. You don’t get working from home, so a walk during a conference call is as close as I will get, and it is extremely impolite to do it on video, so it lessens the frequency of opportunities.
Therefore, my perfect mix is lunting. I pack my pipe, step outside with no headphones, light, and off I go. I take in sunlight, puff on my pipe, and meditate on my project, my day, my life, or whatever else is on my mind. If I am frustrated, thirty yards in, things tend to get lighter. If I am worried, I find some relief. No matter what my state, I am more able to find some gratitude and peace in my pipe and my walk. It’s not exercise, but meditation. I don’t know how to explain it, but walking with my pipe transports me to simpler times, and I feel better connected to my actions, thoughts, and nature. Trivialities of modern life fade away in practicing this antique ritual.
When I return and put my pipe back up, I am noticeably more relaxed and present. At the end of the day, my wife and kids notice the smell, but not in a disgusted way, but almost endearing. I get more compliments on my smell following a pipe than I do wearing nice cologne. I don’t taste it on my lips after a short amount of time. Life returns to normal, but I experienced time slowing down for just a little while.
My occasional afternoon pipe is more than a vice, more than a hobby; it is a ritual of peace. This peace is not one to be sought out at all times or one that has to be shared with others; just personal peace and enjoyment in a small and otherwise meaningless practice. The ritual, the historic connection, and the art that comes with my pipe smoking insert a connectiveness to where I am in the timeline of existence. It’s beautiful, humbling, and uniquely mine.
When I am gone, I hope that others notice the peace this ritual has brought me. I hope that they look back, can understand, and even appreciate it. I hope that it can be cherished like Hallie (pretending to be Annie at the time) did in The Parent Trap. She tells her Grandfather, as she hugs him tightly and takes a big smell of his jacket, that she is “making a memory.” She says, Years from now, when I’m all grown up, I’ll always remember my grandfather and how he always smelled of… Peppermints and pipe tobacco.” A few things imprint like a distinct and pleasant smell linked to a person’s habits.
Others recognize this. More times than I can recall, I am asked what I am smoking, not because someone hates the smoke or smell, but because it reminds them of someone, a grandfather or uncle. The pleasant smell triggers pleasant memories of someone who felt exactly as I do with my pipe in hand, contemplating everything and nothing while enjoying my time with my pipe.
This isn’t for everyone, and I am reluctant to recommend such a habit, but what are your thoughts on pipe smoking? What are some of your rituals that bring you this kind of peace and clarity? I would love to hear them.
Well wishes,
Reid Pierpoint