When the fear of missing out cosplays as desire
Do I actually want to do *that* or am I just afraid of FOMO?
I like to think that I have strong intuition and that deep down I know what I want and (more or less) know how to get there. I also know that there’s a lot of junk in the real world that clouds that intuition (or judgment, if that’s a word you prefer) and things have a funny way of presenting themselves as something I want when in reality something else is often at play.
A lot of times, it’s the fear of missing out (or FOMO1) that sneaks in and makes me think I want something when, in reality, what I want is to not miss out. Those are, I am slowly learning, wildly different things.
There have been many times in my life I’ve gone out when I wanted to stay in, joined an event that didn’t align with my interest, etc., just because I didn’t want to miss out on the stories told after the fact, the memories, the connection. When I was younger (college, 20s) I didn’t feel like there were real consequences to this, but as I get older (30s, parent), I’ve started to not only examine this phenomenon, but also make sure I challenge it when it happens.
There’s a lot of pressure to say yes and jump in. Shonda Rhimes’ Year of Yes has inspired millions to jump into their own say yes experiments with the promise of abandoning our comfort zones for good, relishing in the power of knowing who we could be if we just say yes. Ultimately, this is a really good thing. We should feel inspired to step out of our comfort zones and find a fulfilling life and all that. But I’d add that sometimes, saying yes might actually push us deeper into our patterns and comfort zones.
It’s important to really dig deep and understand if we’re resisting a ‘yes’ because we’re scared or it pushes us outside of our comfort zone. Sometimes, I say yes to things because I should want them to work, not because I actually do—I’m realizing that it’s important to sit and figure that out.
I recently found myself wrestling with this scenario when we were invited to take a trip up north with some friends. On paper, it was everything I could’ve wanted and more. Quality friend time, a weekend out of the city (something I’ve been honestly itching to do for a while), snowy Vermont, great food, and lots of fun. When looking at that list, going is the obvious choice! But instead of excitement, I found myself stressed, uneasy, and even a little sad.
Instead of really listening to that feeling (and to my husband, who outwardly felt this way all along), I spent three weeks attempting to justify every little reason to not go that popped up, reasons that were begging to be taken seriously and listened to. With every reason not to go, I supplied a beautiful solution to that problem, packaged in a bow.
These reasons on their own weren’t anything that couldn’t have been overcome, but when added up, those little things painted a compelling picture as to why this trip wasn’t right in the moment, and wasn’t the right trip for us.
As I worked through each of these reasons and potential solutions, my stomach continued to tumble in knots. I thought to myself, ‘do I actually want to go on this trip, or am I just afraid of missing out?’ I was working so hard to fix a problem I didn’t know if I actually wanted to fix, and that realization stopped me in my tracks a bit.
As soon as the thought floated into my brain space, I felt like I was punched in the gut. The answer was so obvious, a voice shouting ‘you don’t want to go! You just don’t want to not have gone! You don’t want to miss out!’
The truth, staring me right in the face, should’ve been freeing and should’ve led to an immediate, easy decision to not go. But instead, I felt a bit unsettled.
If I knew the answer (and knew it was the right answer), why did it feel so, well, crummy? Why was I resisting this truth and trying to rationalize my way out of it? Why was I crying?
In hindsight, I know that it’s because admitting this truth was admitting something I wasn’t quite ready to face. Because even though I knew not going was the right thing for us, actually deciding not to go meant accepting everything that came with that choice.
And after all, knowing something and accepting it are two entirely different things.