The Freedom of Not Knowing**

9:02 AM—Ethan just handed me my oat milk latte with a smirk and said, “No cinnamon today. You strike me as a wildcard.” Excuse me? Since when is my barista psychoanalyzing me? But also… accurate.

My sketchbook’s open to a half-finished design—raw edges, loose threads, no clear direction. A week ago, that would’ve sent me into a spiral (”What’s the point if it’s not perfect?”). Today? Today I’m weirdly at peace with the mess. Because here’s the thing I’m finally getting: not knowing is its own kind of freedom.

Here’s why that’s hitting different:

1. I’m done forcing clarity. Spent so long obsessing over what it all meant—my breakup, my designs, even my damn coffee order (”Is oat milk basic?”). But yesterday, I caught myself staring at Liam’s last text (”Want to grab drinks Friday?”) for way too long, overthinking the subtext. Then I just… replied ”Sure.” No decoding, no agenda. Just yes. And it felt light.

2. My unfinished designs are becoming my favorites. That chaotic sketch? My professor paused at my desk today, studied it, and said, “Don’t overwork it. The uncertainty is the statement.” Mind. Blown. Maybe growth isn’t about reaching some polished end goal—maybe it’s about loving the process, even when it’s messy.

3. I’m learning to trust the in-between. LA’s in that hazy morning glow where everything feels suspended—not quite night, not quite day. And for once, I’m not rushing to define it. Not every moment has to mean something. Sometimes it’s just caffeine and sunlight and the hum of the coffee grinder.

So yeah, I don’t know what Friday holds. I don’t know where this design is going. And for the first time, that doesn’t feel like failure—it feels like space. Space to breathe, to explore, to just be.

Maybe the bravest thing isn’t having all the answers. Maybe it’s being okay without them.

xx Mandy

(P.S. Ethan just winked at me. What does that MEAN? …See? Old habits die hard.)