Leah McCann Smith | Writer & Editor

Hey! It’s been a while. I haven’t written here—or anywhere, for that matter—a lot lately. The older I get, the more “responsibility” I tell myself I gain, the less I make time for myself in spaces such as these. Which is an absolute, no-questions-asked shame. Writing has always brought me pleasure and offered me a space for freedom of thought. It’s been a safe haven for me in times of distress and pain. But it shouldn’t be an outlet solely in times of pain, though I do lean on it heavily in those moments.

The thing about writing is that it’s there for you always, unconditionally, no matter when, why, or in what circumstance you need it. Since I last wrote, I was recently engaged. (Yay marriage!) Brian and I finally locked down a wedding date and venue for next year, and I’m so happy to say it’ll be at my favorite place on Earth in the beautiful state that B and I call home. I also joined an intramural soccer team, though I couldn’t keep up my fitness those few months for shit. But #progress. And then a retraction of #progress. Since my last post in August, it honestly feels like these last 9 months have been a candle in the wind. Like I’ve been so ingrained in myself and my shiny new job, which I started in late September of last year, that I haven’t bothered to lift up my head and pay attention to the world around me. I justify it by patting myself on the back for listening to my fav news podcast most mornings on my God-awful commute, and by spending a decent amount of time with my parents just down the road. But when I look at and reflect upon this chunk of time in my life, I don’t feel settled.

This post is a drag. We need color.

Traditionalists may call being “perpetually unsatisfied” a millennial-ism, but I don’t. I was talking to my best about it this past weekend; it was an amazing phone convo where we dug into our fear of losing our fear of the unknown—if that makes sense. I told her that, lately, I’m scared that I’ve stopped pushing myself to do more for me. That I, in my biggest nightmare ever, don’t have anything left to say and just go on, day to day, without much thought. Sure, there’s absolutely a physical limit to this, and I need to (and do!) love and appreciate myself and my body. But in my heart I know, for me, it’s more mind than matter. I know I still have that fire, I’ve just got to find the lighter I misplaced. Writing down this commitment will be the first concrete thing I’ve done since September to act upon it.

In other news, it’s hot as hell in North Carolina. But we’re getting by.