The bright orange burning ember at the end of my mom’s Benson & Hedges was right near my face as she said, “Don’t smoke behind my back, darling; here, help yourself to one of mine whenever you want.” I was 14, and after that moment, I happily puffed away every day for the next 16 years. All of my friends smoked, not because we thought that it was cool; we were just addicted, and no one seemed to care. We were captivated by any new brand of cigarette, and we were dying to try them all out.

Benson & Hedges if you wanted to pretend that you were from another country, Marlborough Red if you wanted to be tough, Camel No Filter if you wanted to be Yul Brynner tough, and Alpines if you wanted to pretend that you were at some fancy ski resort. The tobacco companies created the latest sensational cigarette, and the advertising agencies would swoop in and play make-believe.

The allure of a shiny new brand of cigarette waned over the years, and as I approached 30, I was a sorry soul with a very grey face who smoked. I tried desperately to stop, and with every attempt, I would tell anyone who would listen that I was giving up cigarettes. At times, it was all that I talked about, and it consumed me. I finally realised that the way forward was not to tell anyone that I was quitting, and if someone asked or offered me a cigarette, I would simply reply by saying, “No thanks, I don’t smoke.” If a friend asked me how it was going again, I would calmly say, “I don’t smoke.” Repeating this constantly and saying it out loud meant that I tricked my mind into believing that I was a nonsmoker, and to this day, I have never had a cigarette.

I can now laugh at the absurdity of the 14-year-old me smoking, but in many ways, it was a pivotal moment in my life because it felt like there were no rules. I was a wild child who never grew up. I lived a life of duality, feeling like my choices in life were limitless, and at the same time, not making the best decisions. I was answerable only to myself, and despite achieving some of my goals, I was always conflicted. This conflict played out in my life as well. I went to a strict private boy’s school, and on any given day, I would switch from loving it to sheer hatred of everything that the school stood for.

In year 12, I came first in art, second in PE, and third in English. I cringed at school assembly on Fridays when the chaplain would make us pray that the first rugby team would win their match the weekend, and on the way back to class, I would chuckle to myself because at the time I was secretly dating the vice captain of the team—if only they all knew. At 15, I decided that I wanted to go on an exchange programme to Canada, and after graduating, I flew from Brisbane to Sydney, Sydney to Hawaii, Hawaii to LA, and LA to Canada and arrived in a snow-filled land that was 20 degrees below Celsius. I had never seen snow before and had never been on an aeroplane.

As the years progressed, I pivoted between careers, left cities overnight, and walked away from love. I was always my own boss, and I rarely turned to anyone for advice. The end result of this was that I never truly completed anything in life; new chapters were written without completing the last one, and I was always unsettled. I was young and tired, old and defeated. The one constant in my life was that I wrote everything down in a journal. I remember clearly waking up one day and writing, I am lost, I don’t know what to do, and I need help.

I guess you could call this a prayer of some sort, and if there was a God and if she was listening, I hoped that she would answer. Within three months, my life changed drastically. I lost my dad. I went to India to grieve, and on returning to London, I became friends with a chap by the name of Andy Puddicombe. Andy was an ex-professional gymnast and an ordained Buddhist monk. He was teaching friends and family how to learn and practise mindfulness.

Way back then, I introduced Andy to a journalist who wrote an article on his practice. This was the first of many articles, and Andy would go on to create the hugely successful app Headspace. Not long after the article was published, Andy wanted to thank me for the introduction, and he offered to teach me mindfulness for an hour every week for 3 months. I will never forget the first session, and if you are listening to my voice now, I can guide you through what he said (with apologies if my voice is not as calm as Andy’s):

  • Take 10 deep breaths, and on the tenth breath, close your eyes.

  • Now, picture a busy freeway with many cars.

  • Now picture yourself rising above the cars, high, high into the sky so that you are hovering over the freeway. See the cars zooming by. What colours are they?

  • Look at one of the cars and picture yourself floating down and opening the boot or the glove box and placing all of your thoughts into it.

  • Hover again and watch the car drive off into the distance.

  • See another car and open the glove box.

  • When you are ready, open your eyes.

This moment was profound for me because, for the first time in my life, I knew that I was not my thoughts, and I could observe my thinking with no judgement. I found inner peace and a calmness that has become my core, and no matter what happens in my life, I know how to return to that place. I don’t always get it right, but in time I learnt that structure can be a good thing, rules are not always made to be broken, and sometimes you need a good boss. I am still a wild child, and every now and then, I have a recurring dream that I am smoking. In the morning, I sit bolt upright in bed, look for any evidence of a cigarette, and say to myself, I am Danny, and I don’t smoke.