Kayla Smith

Autumn

The first quarter of school has ended and autumn is here and I’m almost 27 years old. I keep accidentally lying when I tell people that I “just moved here” because it’s been two and a half months already. Even though I still don’t have my paintings on the wall or my landlord-required rug on the floor, my apartment has started to feel like home. 
DC keeps tossing me small gifts. It’s been a year and a half since I lived in a place full of chance encounters. I ran into a college classmate in a bookstore and another who I took my first creative writing workshop with and haven’t seen in about 7 years. I got to visit with another college friend who was in town for the weekend, and I got to go see one of my favorite teachers when he came to DC to promote his new book. I feel connected to strangers because I feel like there are fewer degrees of separation between us. It’s the same feeling that I felt in New York—that the world is both fuller and smaller.

 

 

 

 
 
One of my oldest friends, James, came to visit last month. James and I haven’t lived in the same place for almost a decade, but when we’re together it feels like nothing’s changed. Those are the kind of friendships you want to hang onto. I forced upon him some new experiences. Like trying a vegan smoothie (which he liked!). And sweet potato fries (not impressed). And a square millimeter of chopped, raw tomato (also not impressed). We went kayaking on the Potomac and bike riding around the monuments, and I took him to see my favorite band which I have a secret hope is now his favorite band. He never complained about how I unintentionally tried to kill him by making him walk 12 miles on already-sore feet. 

 

Another friend, Elijah, came to visit a couple of weeks ago. Elijah is the type of human who you find standing in the middle of Union Station sketching the ceiling. He is the best expresser of the awe that I feel at things most people find mundane. A beautiful ceiling. The Metro. Street performers. Carrot cake. The right phrase. When someone expresses your feelings for you better than you do, it’s how you know you’ve found a friend. We browsed bookstores at midnight, got way too excited about the Library of Congress, biked around, and took a ghost tour. 


 
 
It’s nice to have friends visit to accompany me on my adventures. But here is a thing that I wish more people knew/believed—being alone should never stop you from having adventures. “I didn’t have anyone to go with” should never be a reason to not do something you want to do. Sometimes people act surprised at the things I do by myself. Yes, I did eat at that restaurant/go to that concert/tour a cemetery/take a road trip/bike 20 miles/hike up a mountain alone, and why should being alone have stopped me from doing any of it? (Unless you want to hike up a mountain that includes a rock scramble that the internet warns you may be too difficult for those 5 feet tall and shorter, which is a different story entirely. Just watch me, internet. Just watch.) There’s this weird stigma about doing things by ourselves that if I paid any attention to would have prevented be from ever even leaving Mississippi. And people are generally way too preoccupied with themselves to notice or care that your by yourself, so forget about the stigma. And doing things by yourself makes you appreciate your friends so much more when you do get to spend time with them.
 
I’m trying to get back to writing, so I looked up reading series in DC and submitted to one and was thrilled when they asked me to come read for them. I’ve only ever read in front of my classmates/friends who already know my work and who I trust to get what I mean. It is a nerve-wracking and liberating thing to read in front of complete strangers who you are half afraid of offending if the sarcasm doesn’t fall just right (or maybe even if it does). But there are few things more validating than when those strangers laugh at the right moments and tell you afterwards “I know just what you mean.” 
 
 
 

I opened my mailbox the other day to find one of the best surprised I’ve ever received—a Webb yearbook that my students from last year signed for me. The notes they wrote were some of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me. I thought of emailing them or sending a letter to tell them how much their words meant to me, but I came to the conclusion that the words do not exist in the English language for me to fully express my gratitude and how I miss them, so I baked 100 brownies and mailed those instead. 

 
The leaves peaked in the Shenandoah over the past few weeks, so on a whim I got up too early last weekend and climbed a mountain to see some. October was a good one. 
 

 

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