The Lost Art of the Cigarette Break

How Social Media Became the New Nicotine

If memory serves, my high school, grades 7 through 12, banned student smoking on campus the year I started seventh grade. That was 1989. Yep, I’m old. Old enough to remember smoking sections in restaurants, ashtrays and lighters built into car dashboards, and even buying cigarettes from vending machines.

My first friend who really smoked was Tree. He started on Camels around age 15 and continued until his death at 49. He tried to quit many times, in many ways, but never could. The last decade of his life, he actually hated smoking. But it remained a part of his every day, a constant reminder of a part of himself he couldn’t quite break free from.

We didn’t become close friends until I was 15 and Tree was 17, already two years into his habit. I grew used to his cigarette breaks at concerts, outside bars, during long drives. These intermissions became a private ritual. We’d step away from the group, stand outside, and just be. As much as I hated that he smoked (although admittedly I did too, at the time), I cherished those moments. Outside, silent, surveying the world together. Watching. Thinking. Pausing. Allowing space for nothingness.

When I started art school at 14, every class studio included a break, nominally for the model to rest, but really for the instructors to smoke. Sometimes the models would join them out on the back steps overlooking the water. The older students, juniors and seniors shared cigarettes, as if splitting one between three made it somehow not count. Us younger kids, not yet smokers, would gather out front sipping Snapples and sodas, enjoying the same quiet. No one talked much. But there was a deep intimacy to that silence.

Later, when I graduated to the back steps, cigarette in hand, those invisible lines between instructor, model, and student blurred. Everyone equal. Everyone still. We were all just pausing. Thinking. Resetting for the next pose.

College was no different. At Pratt, I remember a tight circle of us dragging on one last inhale before descending underground to the subway. At RISD, we sat beneath trees, barefoot, toes stretching in the grass before another three-hour studio session. At the San Francisco Art Institute, nearly every instructor smoked, pausing to open the floor-to-ceiling windows, climbing out onto fire escapes, sitting by the pond watching the Koi, or on the sun-soaked concrete roof.

Eventually, I understood the cigarette break wasn’t really about the cigarette. It was about the pause. The breath. The shift in perspective, even for just 15 minutes. The inhale was just that. A moment to turn the page, cleanse the palette, and step back so we could re-enter with fresh eyes. Soft eyes. In a sense we were before our time. Co-regulating before we knew co-regulating was a thing.

Then came smartphones. And social media. And smoking bans. And little by little, those silent shared moments were replaced by screens. Instead of stepping away into stillness and regulation, we now step into stimulation. We scroll. We consume. We take in music, short videos, texts. For many creatives, social media became the new cigarette break.

And while it’s probably just as toxic in its own way, when we stopped stepping outside for a smoke and focused on our screens, we lost something valuable. Something vital to the creative process.

We lost the art of doing nothing.
Of being in stillness.
A moment alone, or shared, unplugged and undemanding.

Creatives need short periods of nothingness while in process.
And we need to be allowed to share that nothingness with others.

This kind of pause is essential. We need short windows of nothingness while we work. We need moments to stare at the wall, sip something warm, or simply breathe into the shape of the day. These tiny intermissions allow ideas to marinate, recalibrate, and surprise us. When we fill every lull with input, there’s no space for original thought to catch up. There’s no space to receive.

And maybe that’s what we were really doing back then. Sitting together on stoops, fire escapes, hot rooftops, or under city sidewalk awnings. Making an unspoken agreement to stop producing and start receiving.

Connecting to creativity is less about output and more about receivership.
We still need that 15-minute reset. Not just from work, but from stimulation.

So the challenge now is this:
When you reach for your screen, pause and ask, am I seeking stimulation, or space to receive?

What We Can Do Instead of Scrolling:

Step outside
Not for a walk, not for steps, just to exist. Lean on a railing. Watch a tree.

Stare into space
Literally. Look out a window. Watch the horizon. Let your eyes go soft. No agenda.

Sit in silence with someone
No talking. No music. Just shared quiet. Co-regulate in a safe group with a shared goal.

Listen to music with no visuals
Not curated content, but full albums. One song at a time. Preferably on something with no curation.

People watch
Notice the hem of someone’s jacket. The sound of skateboard wheels on concrete. The crease of a beautifully tailored pair of pants.

These tiny gestures of nothingness aren’t idle. They’re generative.
They create the kind of mental spaciousness creativity depends on.

We don’t need to go back to smoking, please no. But we do need to go back to pausing on purpose, without input. And ideally, sometimes, with others. Just outside, quiet and watching.

That’s what we lost when the cigarette break disappeared.
And it’s time creatives reclaim it.

What does your version of the cigarette break look like now? Hit reply, I’d love to hear.

---

In Practice

A weekly rhythm for the creative season you're in

Starting this week, I’m introducing a new way to follow the rhythm and flow of your creativity in real time.

In Practice is a weekly reflection designed to meet you exactly where you are: in your process, in your leadership, in your life. Each week offers a theme drawn from deeper seasonal and emotional currents translated into insight, embodiment, and sustainable action.

Think of it as creative weather pattern for your inner world.
A grounding cue to return to all week long.

Starting soon, In Practice will be for paid subscribers only. I’ll be sharing it freely for a short time so you can receive its rhythm and depth before it transitions.

If it's been meaningful to you, now’s a great time to upgrade and stay connected.

This week’s theme: Disruption as Invitation

Disruption often gets a bad reputation. We associate it with discomfort, conflict, and destruction. And yes, challenge isn’t always easy.

But disruption is much more than just chaos. Disruption can also bring clarity. It can provide a moment of space to recognize that something isn’t working. A feeling that won’t quite let go, a tension that illuminates something we have outgrown.

This week’s rhythm invites us to sit with that tension, not in an effort to fix, but as a messenger. Something that might just be trying to free us.

Reflection

Where are you feeling emotionally stirred, challenged, or reactive?

Can you slow down enough to sense what’s underneath that heat?

Transformation happens both in breakthrough and in rupture.

Disruption can shake us loose.

This week, try letting disruption lead you, gently. As curiosity and a creative edge.

In Practice: Wherever You Are

Each of us moves through the creative process differently. These cues are designed to meet you where you are. (Soon, I’ll share more about the full framework that supports this).

---

If you’re gathering inspiration
Pause when you feel overstimulated. Ask: Am I seeking insight, or avoiding discomfort? Let the tension guide you.

If you’re visioning or dreaming
What idea is rising that feels too big, too wild, too disruptive? Give it airtime. Invite it to the table.

If you’re building or refining
Where is your process resisting control? Instead of doubling down, get curious. Is your structure supporting the work, or suffocating it?

If you’re challenging the status quo
Lead with heart, not just fire. Your clarity is powerful, but your discernment is what makes your work resonate.

If you’re integrating or feeling tender
Let the friction illuminate something deeper. The rupture isn’t pulling you apart it’s opening you up.

---

Cue for the Week

Notice what stirs you and stay with it a few beats longer than usual.
We are not in solving mode here (I know it’s so hard to not want to solve). Stay curious. Notice. Use disruption as a teacher.

---

This is Fun!

I’m honored to be featured in a recent conversation with writer and artist

Heidi Fiedler

of Nebula Notebook, where we explored the layered relationship between motherhood and creativity. We talked about how becoming a parent reshaped my creative practice, what was lost, what was gained, and how I learned to trust the depth that can come from even the smallest windows of time.

This interview touches on the often improbable and beautiful tension between art-making and caregiving, the unexpected lessons from skateboarding, and what it really means to stay connected to your creative self.

Thank you so much Heidi, I’m so grateful to have been a part of the Mothers Who Make Interviews.

You can read the full piece on Substack here:
Lisa Anderson Shaffer: Freeing Your Creative Process

---

Inside this week's These Three Things:

Reflections about love, adaptation, and sacred release, including what hummingbirds are teaching us about change, and the unexpected beauty of crying next to a stranger.

These weekly reflections are where I share what I'm noticing beneath the surface, where intuition, energy, and creative practice meet.

These Three Things is available for paid subscribers only. A quiet, focused space for thoughtful prompts, honest process, and building a reflective creative rhythm, even when the world feels chaotic. The necessary act of co-regulation with a group of creatives with the shared goal of curiosity and ritual noticing.

Come take your seat at the table. We begin again each Sunday.

Upgrade your subscription to join us.