It is a Thursday evening and I am sitting with April D. Jones's interview in my hands.

I've read it twice. I'm about to read it a third time, which is unusual for me as I am not, historically, a woman who does things slowly. (Ask anyone who has ever tried to have a leisurely lunch with me. I'll be on the second agenda item before the bread basket arrives.)

But there's something in this interview I keep coming back to.

The quickfire round. Three questions in a row. Same answer, three times.

What do women need more of? Power. What are you unapologetic about? Power. What word describes this season of your life? Power.

And then, two questions later: One word for April D. Jones? Free.

I put the transcript down and thought: that's the issue.

Because here's what gets me about April's story. She spent years learning to unfold herself slowly. To read the room. To calibrate exactly how much of herself the room was ready for before she gave it all of herself. Charismatic, brilliant, the girl who lit up every room - and she learned, very early, to dim it. Just enough so the room wouldn't feel overwhelmed.

The rooms now book her specifically because she stopped.

What a treat that is, she says. To walk in whole.

And then, tucked almost as an aside into the middle of her interview, there's the thing she calls an Aprilism. A line her husband and her best friend know by heart.

Do it or don't do it. Just pick. And once you pick — go all in.

That's the issue. Right there.

Because Issue 67 is full of women who have stopped waiting for better conditions. Helena on the leadership shift that happens every summer - the moment when discernment replaces drive, and the question changes from what still needs doing to what no longer needs me. Justine Carino on high-functioning anxiety, and what it actually costs to run on it long-term. Claire Winter on visibility, and specifically on the decision to show up this summer instead of promising yourself September will be different. And Dino Tartaglia, who would like you to consider that the reason you keep reaching for someone else's blueprint isn't confusion. It's comfort.

There is also a piece in this issue I wrote myself for The Rest Test. I drove three hours to Rutland and left my laptop at home. My justification (and I'm leaving this in, because I suspect it will be horribly familiar) was that I was worried it might get wet near the spa. That is what it took. That's the logic that worked, not that, you know, I’m actually worn out from working around the clock… What I found on the other side of that particular surrender is in these pages.

This is the summer issue. The days are long. The invitation is simple.

Do it or don't do it. But if you're doing it — do it in full.

I believe in you (always),