I know why

I don't know why my writing has been slim or why the days seem to be moving much faster than before.  I'm not sure why I don't call as much — why I'm less myself than before. 

Before I made changes. Before I uprooted. Before I stepped into a whirlwind.

I don't know why. 

I don't know why I'm less concerned with finding the answers to my questions, why I spend less time saying sorry and more time allowing myself to exist. I don't know why I'm letting myself live, letting myself walk calmly through life with the realization that, if it doesn't work out, well then it doesn't work out. 

Why fester? 

Why do we burden ourselves with the fear of the unknown, of what others will think, of not living up to what we have been told we can be?

I don't know why. 

I don't know why I'm not anymore. 

But maybe, I do know why. Maybe I've known all along.

Maybe it's because I've realized that it's not about focusing on your image, your Instagram, your perfect body, or your perfect life. It's about focusing on what you love — what makes you come alive. It's about believing in yourself enough to focus on the right things instead of the wrong ones — no shortcuts, no internal lies. 

I do know why the weeks are flying by, the writing hasn't come, and the hours on my phone have slowly diminished. 

It's because I'm allowing happiness in. It's because I don't need to focus on the wrong things anymore or live to a standard I've created in my own mind — it's because I've realized I'm allowed to live.