**The Comfort of No Explanation**

9:01 AM—The slip dress is back in the closet. The sweats are still on the floor (let’s be real, they’ll stay there). Today, I’m in a cropped sweater and jeans—my jeans, the ones with the frayed hem I’ve been meaning to fix for months. But here’s the thing: I didn’t choose them because they’re cool or effortless or whatever. I chose them because they were on top of the pile.

Because here’s what I’m learning: the most radical thing you can do is stop making everything mean something.

1. I’m obsessed with the ordinary. That phase where every outfit had to tell a story? Exhausting. The backlash where I forced myself into not caring? Also exhausting. But this? This is just… getting dressed. No metaphor. No journey. Just me, my closet, and the faint hope that I’ll finally do laundry this weekend.

2. My creativity is learning to exist without my permission. That cartoon of Ethan? Still framed. Still terrible. But yesterday, a regular at the coffee shop—some finance bro in a too-tight suit—pointed at it and said, "That’s kinda deep." And instead of cringing or over-explaining, I just shrugged. "Yeah, maybe." Not every piece of me needs to be understood. Some can just be, messy and unpolished.

3. I’m falling in love with the ease of being known. Liam texted this morning: "You’re wearing the ripped jeans." Not a question. Not even a guess—just a fact, like he already knew. And instead of spinning it into a thing (Does he pay that much attention? Is this weird?), I just replied: "Obviously." No emoji. No follow-up. Just… truth.

Ethan handed me my coffee today—black, splash of oat—and didn’t even glance at my outfit. Just a nod, a "Hey."

No commentary. No smirk. Just… presence.

And maybe that’s the real evolution—not in the choices, but in the lack of noise around them.

xx Mandy

(P.S. Those jeans? Still ripped. Still mine. Still just… jeans.)