Growing up, I was taught to hate weed. We all were. The propaganda against it was everywhere, with anti-drug ads, speakers, politicians and even celebrities constantly attacking it, saying that it will do nothing but hurt us and lead us nowhere in life. "Weed is for losers and quitters," so on and so forth. With that mentality drilled into me, I never even entertained the idea of smoking in high school (though to be honest only twice was put in a position in which it was even offered to me) and continued to resist it through my freshman year of college. No good could come of it, of that I was certain.
It was sophomore year that a friend finally convinced me to try it, and even then I was quite reluctant. Being that he is one of my closest friends, I was comfortable enough around him to try it. I actually stripped down to only my underwear as to avoid the smell sticking to my clothes, a sure sign of my resistance of the concept. The experience was something indescribable, feeling sensations and having thoughts that words could never in a million years adequately summarize. Still, I did my best to maintain my stance, hoping that I would not go back to this substance again and continue to abstain.
With that being said, it's hard to say when my mind completely changed about it. With age, details are skewed and memories become fuzzy (and what they say is true — weed does not help) but I know at some point I began embracing it. Most likely the component that did it was the momentary freedom from my stress and anxieties in that stretch of time that I was under its influence, which allowed me to actually think about things more critically, understand something that alluded me before or perhaps notice something that my eyes and mind glossed over previously.
As my tolerance toward marijuana increased and I gradually accepted it as a more active component in my life, questions about my initial attitude towards it obviously arose. I was trained to think that it was only for the worst of society, that it would lead to my destruction, that it was unhealthy. Was that wrong? Were there no benefits to something that made you feel wonderful and opened your mind to another dimension of understanding the world around you?
I'm now 25, and with all things considered, I have done my best to look at both sides of the argument. I will admit that I have not made the healthiest of choices in recent years, and that the claim that weed will decrease your ambition appears to be proving true, as I found myself in long stretches of wanting to do nothing else but get high and forget my troubles. It became a crutch that I used for a temporary release from my worries. For that reason, I understand the claims and warnings against it. But on the other end, it still allowed me to analyze life and the people and places in it. I have formulated unique ideas that have absolutely helped me understand others in ways I wasn't able to before. I have even begun to construct my own philosophy on life that I am certain will lead me to what may be my true purpose: to comprehend the world I live in and explain it to myself and others.In the strangest way, weed paved the road to a whole new ambition.
Above all else, perhaps the most compelling lesson that I have learned through my use of marijuana is that the world is even less black and white than we first think. Some things that we are told are bad are only bad under specific circumstances, and some things are good only under set circumstances. Did weed make me make those bad decisions? I do not believe that is true. I believe that it was me alone that made those decisions, and that my use was more coincidental than anything. That weakness was already a pre-existing condition inside of myself, and I succumbed to it. I believe that is true for others as well: this substance is not what produces poor judgment. If anything, it's only guilty of showing us who we really are.
