the FOMO

                                               you wouldn't want to miss the chinchillas in party hats 

You know the FOMO. The FOMO keeps you from your sleep, makes you get into heels and mini-dress (or whatever the male equivalent of that get-up is) when you feel like being on the couch in you pajamas. It makes you drive all the way out there for that one party everyone is going to, it makes you stay for one more dance or worse one more drink (which never turns out to be one, does it?). But however many bad nights and bad decisions the FOMO leads to, it's always justified by those times it led to the best.night.ever.

The Fear Of Missing Out is a formidable foe and I've got a bad case this summer.

Many a night recently has found me pouring myself into bed shortly before dawn, wondering what I am doing up at such an hour. Novel writing and gym going are summarily abandoned the next day because I could not force myself to leave when I probably should have: I was either having too much fun or was certain the additional fun was right around the corner. Let's go eat at the diner, dance in the street or have one more drink at your place. Why? Why NOT? What's sleep compared to good times and good company?

If the FOMO has a natural habitat its New York City and when I was living there the FOMO was pretty much my spirit animal. If you went home early or worse, stayed in completely, you might miss a night that would become legend among your friends: a sighting of a reclusive artist, tequila shots with a movie star, a famous band popping up on a street corner to play a surprise show or simply one of those 'only in New York' nights that are the reason you moved there. And since New York is on all the time, you can never escape the FOMO, you can never honestly say 'I'll just stay in tonight, there's nothing going on.'

It was exhausting; sometimes a girl just needs Tivo and a glass of wine.

The FOMO and I have had some good times together but I can't let it run the show forever. Maybe just until Labor Day.