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So today started off with a bang — or maybe a sprint. I went to court this morning on a case involving family, and thankfully, everything went smoothly. But even a calm day in court comes with its fair share of stress. The fluorescent lights, the echoing footsteps, the smell of stale coffee — all of it had me breathing heavy before I even got called up. The public defender noticed so she got my case taken care of in record time, and I was out of there faster than you can say “case dismissed.” That’s where the story really...

Now that I’ve quit smoking, everyone’s decided it’s time for me to take on the next steps: diet and exercise. Honestly, I can’t say I’m thrilled about it. But with a little moaning and complaining, I’ve started taking short, brisk walks. At first, I had to—because my breathing was out of control. Simple things like walking up stairs or getting out of bed to use the bathroom left me gasping for air. The doctors say it could be anxiety, or possibly COPD from years of smoking. Either way, it’s clear that I’ve got to rebuild my lungs and stamina. So,...

Most mental illnesses are caused by a mix of chemical imbalances in the brain and environmental factors like trauma. I don’t pretend to know all the chemicals in a cigarette or exactly how they interact with the brain, but one thing is certain — doing something several times a day that you know is killing you can be depressing all by itself. When I was battling thyroid cancer, that was exactly the trap I was in. Even though the doctors said smoking didn’t cause that type of cancer, it didn’t make the guilt or anxiety any easier. Quitting gave me...

Today marks two full weeks smoke-free, and I took a longer walk than usual. Mom gave me some money and a letter to mail to my older brother, so I walked to the post office. On the way back, I passed the 7-Eleven—the same one where I used to buy my cigarettes. That familiar glow of the sign might as well have read “Temptation.” It hit hard. That quick thought—just one pack, just one puff—flashed through my mind like a reflex. But I kept walking. It’s strange how much effort it takes to not do something that used to feel...

Almost two weeks smoke-free! The celebrations, the pats on the back, and the endless “You did it!” are all great, but now it’s time to move on to the next chapter. My little brother has decided I’ve had enough of my victory lap and is pushing me toward diet and exercise. Now, I’m not trying to become Mr. Atlas here. I quit smoking mainly to make sure the cancer is gone and stays gone—not to sculpt a marble statue of myself. But I’ll admit, the little cynic may have a point. Usually, I’d question how he thinks he knows so...