A Personal Essay
It’s Thursday night, the final push to Friday. I am sitting on the couch, fingers poised above my laptop prepared to tackle the assignments looming over me, when my roommate plops herself down on the cushion next to me. “You’re going to Jay’s tonight, right?” This is our routine, our tradition. We ask each other this question every Thursday, and I can see the confusion in her face when I deviate from the script and say “no.” When the rest of my girlfriends arrive, I break the news once again. “Are you feeling okay?” they ask. Or “C’mon! You need a break. Let’s go out!” And “What if I buy your drinks?” Eventually they give up and leave me to my work. I applaud myself for committing to my plans, but the sounds of pop music and bits and pieces of stray gossip floating from the bathroom cause a niggling feeling.
An hour and change later, my girlfriends emerge, glammed-out with curled hair, sexy outfits, and killer makeup. Registering the sinking feeling in my stomach, I realize that they are definitely going to have a great time... without me. As they sashay out the door, I am promised that drinks will be “poured out for me” and that I’ll get “all the deets” in the morning. For the rest of the night, I try to work. But instead, most of the time, I sit, phone in hand, scrolling through my girlfriends’ Instagram posts and Snapchat stories wishing that I was there too. The work I’ve stayed home to do remains strewn across the coffee table, untouched. But that failure gives me an idea.
Looking back, the pandemic has taken a lot of things away– our beloved routines, favorite hobbies, our loved ones and friends. However, the one positive was that it also took away FOMO. No one was doing anything, and I rejoiced in the loss of its presence. Now, as the world slowly awakens from its slumber, so does the fear of missing out. With FOMO back and stronger than ever, I make the decision to face it head-on. I embarked on an experiment for us all... I’m going to sit out of every plan for two weeks and see if I can use the best psychological science I can find to fight it for good.
A notification pings on my phone: girls’ brunch in 30? i need a mimosa and weekend debrief ASAP. My roommate pokes her head out of our shared room, summoning me to get ready. “I think the girls are going to meet us here and then we’ll all drive together. “We need to get dressed!” Shaking my head, I remind her that I am sitting this one, the next and the one after that, out. “You were serious about that? Grace, two weeks is so long! You’re going to die!” she says. Mentally, I am (very sarcastically) thanking her for her vote of confidence. After a few minutes of outfit changes, coaxing, and questioning, my roommate declares herself ready to go. Suddenly, the apartment is much quieter than it was minutes before.
Knowing that I should get ahead of the impending FOMO, I hear my mother’s voice in my head “You just need to clear your mind, Grace. Maybe do some yoga or meditation?” Hmm…what could it hurt? It’s true. According to psychologist and author Dr. Jean Twenge, meditation can help chase away intrusive feelings and anxiety. Computer and yoga mat in hand, I set up on my balcony, searching YouTube for a guided meditation video. I’m skeptical of how successful this attempt will be but closed my eyes and listen to the flute music in the background. At first it’s awkward, and I keep opening one eye to ensure I don’t have an audience. But, once I feel content with my privacy, I force myself to focus on the voice of the instructor.
The sun warms my cheeks as I sit in a cross-legged position on my balcony. “One deep breath in... and out,” she narrates. “Feel the relaxation flow through your body.” The crisp fall air fills my lungs and the sounds of birdsong floats up to my perch. All my worries seem to slip away. I allow myself to be led through breathing exercises and mindfulness reminders, I have no idea what I’m doing, mind you. But also, I’ll admit that the time’s dragging. The video just won’t end. Twenty minutes pass. Then 30. Then an hour. The front door opens as my roommate arrives back home. She sees me in an askew child’s pose and laughs. I laugh at myself too. Well, I think, at least I’ve managed to keep myself occupied. Right away, we start dishing about what happened.
As my experiment continues, I make steady progress.
It's one of those nights, where the workload is almost too much to bear, and a much-needed study session is desperately required. My girlfriends must feel the same way, and I receive a text inviting me to a sushi and study get-together. Despite my desperate need to catch up on all that I’ve missed, I stay home. While working with my group of friends usually lightens the atmosphere, in all honesty, very little work actually gets done. None of my work would get done, at least, not tonight. Resolving to not let FOMO dominate my evening, I resolve to create myself an incredibly detailed to-do list. One that allows absolutely no room for me to think about what my friends were up to.
I break out my rubber gloves and throw myself into a cleaning frenzy. I scrub corners and crevasses of the kitchen that, I am sure, have been covered in grime longer than the time I've lived here. I scavenge the apartment for dirty cups and dishes, why use the dishwasher when I’ve got a perfectly good set of hands? The mountain of laundry I had been so keen to avoid suddenly had an appeal I could not explain. Up and down the flight of stairs I go, washing everything from pillowcases to dishrags. By the end of the night, the apartment reeks of cleaning products and everything within it sparkles.
Let's get this straight. I am not a slob by any means, but you’ll never find me vacuuming for fun. Yet, instead of feeling satisfied by my hard work, I just feel exhausted and wish I was sitting around a table eating sushi with my friends. Maybe I’m missing the whole point of this experiment? The FOMO caught up with me anyway, no matter how hard I tried to keep myself distracted.
But all hope is not lost. There was one night where I did have some success. It’s Thursday and typically “Friday-eve” is cause to celebrate. Barhopping is a tradition amongst my friend group, bouncing between Jay’s Sports bar to Brock’s, Spirits, Castiglias and Billikens all in one night. While I don’t look forward to spending the night alone, my bank account weeps tears of joy. I make the decision to celebrate the nearing weekend in a different way and treat myself to all the little pleasures I am usually too busy for.
I hum along to my favorite indie-rock playlist and set out to uncover my stash of bubble solutions. I draw myself a hot bath, my favorite scent “Coconut Splash” fills the air. Dimming the lights and setting out a few candles, I am transported away to a happy place.
When I am thoroughly wrinkled, I drain my oasis, put on my favorite pair of silk pajamas and put in a call for Chinese takeout. Awaiting the arrival of my much anticipated lo mein and veggie rolls, I break out my nail polish collection and paint my nails a happy and bold neon yellow. 30 minutes later, when I am buffed, polished and manicured, my dinner arrives. Wielding chopsticks in one hand and the TV remote in the other, I snuggle into the couch and flip on “Unsolved Mysteries,” a crime docu-series that has been sitting in my to-watch list for a number of weeks. I lose myself in noodles and suspense.
Two hours later, when I finished my series, I sit out on the balcony to feel the night breeze and chat with my family on the phone. I crawl into bed earlier than I have for the past couple of Thursdays feeling happy and content.
I typically avoid spending so much time alone, but tonight, I genuinely enjoyed being by myself. At the beginning of the night, I was terrified that FOMO would sneak up on me. The knowledge that something major would happen, like it always does, and I wouldn’t be there for it made me feel uneasy. Is it because I find my own life so monotonous that I rely on my friends as a source of excitement? Or is it because I usually act as designated mediator when we are out? I fall asleep enjoying my success but puzzled by it.
Friday night rolls around, and my girlfriends are sticking to our typical schedule. The going out routine begins as early as 7 o’clock, my friends gather in my apartment to discuss their plans, outfits and conquests for the night over a few glasses of wine. As the night progresses, drinks flow, music from the speaker in our kitchen gets louder and the pile of discarded outfits grows to the size of a small mountain. When the girls are properly tipsy and satisfied with their Friday night looks, I put on my happy face, tell them to have the best time and that I can’t wait to hear all about their adventures when they get back.
The second that my group of hair sprayed, high heeled girlfriends file through the door, I reach for my phone. Holding my thumb down on the power button and giving my screen a decisive swipe right, I power my phone off. A week prior to this experiment I downloaded an ebook copy of “Generation Me,” which proposed a theory why my generation is “more miserable than ever.” Apparently, it all boils down to one thing… social media. So I’ll just turn off my phone. Seemed an easy enough solution at the time. Now, here I am, awaiting to be freed from the temptation to scroll through Snapchat stories documenting flashing multicolored lights, dancing, sweaty bodies, and mirror selfies. It never happens. I catch myself constantly glancing over at my phone that sits silently on my bedroom desk.
I attempt to fight my temptation with distraction. I turn on Netflix and search for a show, letting myself be sucked into the unsolved mysteries of the “Cold Case Files.” I make it through the night, having no idea that the real challenge would be battling my feelings as the girls arrive home and begin to recap their night. “OMG our Uber got lost on the way home… I thought we were getting kidnapped!” “Did you see the guy in the red flannel? SO hot.” “That last green tea shot was such a bad idea, I feel like I’m going to puke.” Stories of drunken decisions, descriptions of cute guys and silly drama made me realize that I’ve not avoided FOMO but merely delayed it.
The experiment continues and I am sitting out of my routine trip to the farmer’s market downtown with the girls. Disappointed I am missing out on my favorite day of the week, I am determined to get myself out of the apartment to enjoy the beautiful weather and sunny sky, albeit by myself. I fill up my water bottle and double knot my running shoes. Working out has never been a distraction for me, rather an effort to stay in shape. But, looking at it through a new lens, I see it as an opportunity to escape.
I run, feet barely kissing the ground. Perhaps a little while ago I would have balked at the idea of running so far and fast, now I relish the prospect. Up and down the sidewalks I run, admiring the quaint colonial houses and laughing at the children playing in their front yards. Stopping to pet a dog or two, I set my course for the park. Rock music blasts in my ears and sweat runs down my forehead. But the harder I run, the noisier my brain gets. I slam my feet into the sidewalk, allowing myself to feel all my emotions. I am angry. I am lonely. I am not okay with this. Why did I do this damn thing? I sweat and huff out my negative feelings, a change from my normal emotional denial. It feels terrible, but as I slow my pace, arriving at my destination, I feel, oddly, a sense of peace.
I am sweaty and exhausted from both the run and emotional cleaning. But my foul mood has made a total 360. The effect is almost magical: instead of berating myself for being upset and refusing to let myself understand why, pounding the pavement gave me emotional release and the ability to calm my mind. I take the return trip at a more leisurely pace and by a different route. I arrive home feeling tired but fulfilled.
All of my past efforts focused on staving off FOMO rather than feeling it and dealing with it. I need to sit with my feelings, let them overwhelm me a little, comfort myself. Explore what they're about. This is the only healthy way I'll ever learn to be with myself. I don't need to run from FOMO. I need to let myself have it and be okay with it.
By the end of my two week-long challenge, I lacked confidence in my success and felt confused by what I had learned throughout the duration of my experiment. I approached this challenge expecting to discover a straightforward solution: by doing “x” or “y” I was able to get over my FOMO. Despite my efforts, my “solutions” were really only ever distractions. What I learned was disheartening, so here is the honest truth. FOMO really can’t be done away with, at least not permanently.
But in the months after, I found that this investigation was more complicated and required me to not only continue to sit with my honest emotions but to reflect on my experiences in the weeks following its conclusion.
I am truthful with myself, and ask the hard questions like “why am I feeling this way?” or “what is this really stemming from?” I recall the silence of my childhood home. Both my parents worked full-time jobs, my dad’s unconventional work schedule forcing him to leave in the early hours of the morning and return home late at night. While my mom worked a typical 9 to 5, five p.m. always turned into 6 p.m., which bled into 7. My built-in companion, my brother, has always had an active social life and, once old enough, consistently hijacked our shared car to experience his newfound freedom. My feelings were akin to imposter syndrome, and I felt like I didn’t contribute anything to our family structure and wasn’t needed. This feeling has translated into my other relationships, feeling as if I need to prove my worth or “funness” within my friend groups. As an adult, I’ve been able to address my insecurities and realize that my family and friends do value me. It was one thing to go out to cover up my feelings of insecurity and another to do it because I want to.
Now, rather than feeling like my experiment has been a failure, it finally occurred to me that I have reached a level of inner understanding.Now, for me, FOMO has morphed into something else: learning to move on.