Certain skills can only be mastered through practice. Learning to roll a joint is one such skill. 

The first time I tried, in my early forties, I had no idea what I was doing. I was in Amsterdam with my spouse. At my insistence, we stopped in at The Bulldog, the city's oldest coffeeshop. It was completely out of character for me at the time. 

My only other exposure to cannabis was when a relative offered me a joint in my mid-twenties. Not wanting to look like a square, I accepted, but I was clueless about smoking pot. I took a few puffs before immediately exhaling, not realizing that the smoke must enter the lungs to have any effect. When I felt nothing, I assumed I was immune to marijuana. 

Time would prove me very wrong.

Trying Weed Again 

They say when in Rome, do as the Romans do. Applying that same maxim to Amsterdam, it made sense to give cannabis another shot. My uninformed attitude towards the drug hadn't really changed at all - I was a serious professional and cannabis was a drug used by slackers and misfits - but I was drawn to it nonetheless. Perhaps I was going through a midlife crisis, or maybe it was because of my failing marriage. For whatever reason, I developed a sudden, newfound need to live dangerously. 

The only problem was, I was thoroughly unprepared. I assumed one could stroll into a coffeeshop, order a pre-roll, spark it up, and start smoking. Perhaps that is the case now, but on that fateful evening, they either didn't sell pre-rolls or they were out. Instead, the budtender showed me whole buds that I was supposed to grind and roll myself. She might as well have been explaining rocket science to me. I had no idea getting stoned was so complicated.

The budtender found some rolling papers and explained what I had to do. Not wanting to purchase a grinder for what I assumed would be a one-time thing, she suggested I ask another patron to grind the flower for me. I did so sheepishly. 

I was out of my element and must have looked like a dummy. I certainly felt like one. A guy at the neighboring table graciously ground down the bud. Neither he nor any of his friends laughed outwardly, but I felt like they must have been laughing on the inside. Fortunately, they didn't see the joint that I somehow managed to roll - for that would have really evoked howls of laughter.

A properly rolled joint should look something like a phallus - firm, straight, and erect, with the flower packed tight. Mine looked more like a limp dick. It was full of air pockets. It's a wonder the thing even lit. If there was a competition for saddest joint ever rolled, I would have won, hands down. I took a few strained puffs but had to relight the pathetic thing on several occasions as it kept going out. Like previously, I didn't inhale the smoke into my lungs, so it had no effect. 

My initial excitement at trying something new and dangerous evaporated. My first and only visit to an Amsterdam coffeeshop was a bust.

Third Time’s the Charm 

Fast forward a few years. I had been living overseas for a long time, primarily in Europe. Returning to Canada a few months after pot was legalized, I felt the call to reengage with the herb for a third time. Only this time, I was determined to do things right.

I watched YouTube videos on how to smoke pot, and I finally understood why I was never able to get high before. Getting the smoke into the lungs involves a two-step process - first, taking the smoke into the mouth, then inhaling fresh air and taking both the air and the smoke into the lungs before exhaling. At least that's how it was explained. 

YouTube also taught me how to roll a proper joint, though mastering that particular skill took time. Armed with this new knowledge, I was ready to engage with marijuana once again.

When the smoke finally entered my lungs, I knew almost instantly that everything I previously believed about cannabis was wrong. Better yet, everything I was conditioned to believe about this wonderful plant was bullshit. Mary Jane and I hit it off immediately. Not only did she make me feel wonderful, but she inspired and motivated me. 

Over time, she guided me towards journaling, yoga, breathwork, and meditation – subjects I’ve written about at length elsewhere. While so many others were suffering through the pandemic, I was dancing to Bob Marley tunes in my living room. A lifelong introvert, my extroverted side began to assert itself. I was happier, I was smiling and laughing a lot more, and I was more comfortable in my skin than I had ever been – even long after the effects of the plant had worn off. 

Cannabis was nothing like I’d been led to believe. Far from being harmful, it proved to be beneficial in ways I’d never imagined. It probably didn’t hurt that, about six months previously, I had another first meeting with a plant teacher – in that case, psilocybin mushrooms. That first experience with a psychedelic drug made me look at the world through a completely different, heart-centered lens. I was suddenly open to ideas that I never would have considered, let alone accepted, in the past. One of those ideas was that, when used mindfully, with respect and reverence, cannabis is a powerful plant teacher. 

One of the differences between mushrooms and pot is that cannabis affords more personal agency. A mushroom trip is like being strapped into a rollercoaster. The ride isn’t over until you reach the end, no matter how much you scream. In fact, screaming makes things worse – so you might as well relax and enjoy the ride, wherever it takes you. 

With weed, you can direct the trajectory of the trip. It’s more like a choose-your-own-adventure storybook, where you use the plant’s magic in whatever way works best for you. It could be to enhance creativity, to engage in mindful practices like yoga or tai chi, to dance, to make music, to enhance sexual pleasure, or for a variety of other pursuits. I’m a much better tennis player, for example, after smoking weed. The ball is bigger, my timing is better, and my focus is rock-solid.

Like so many other established professionals, I believed for a long time that weed was frivolous at best and harmful at worst. It never dawned on me that cannabis could have powerful healing properties. My personal experience with marijuana has been full of learning, laughter, and personal growth. I’m convinced that other 40-something professionals with little to no prior exposure might be equally surprised at how cannabis can make a positive impact in their lives. It took me a long time – two whole decades – to appreciate the many benefits of this wonderful plant. 

I’m glad I gave weed another shot, for my relationship with Mary Jane was truly a case of love at third sight.