During shelter-in-place, I’ve signed up for — and then skipped out on — Zoom fitness classes, an “Intro to Tarot Card Reading” webinar, and a virtual happy hour for writers. Ever since San Francisco shut down and my IRL social life took a nosedive, I’ve been in awe of the rise in virtual, accessible entertainment, but I didn’t expect it to bring such a large dollop of FOMO.
How is it that this increase in programming — designed to make us all feel better — is only making me feel worse for having missed out on 99% of it?
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Aside from not being there to witness Beyoncé’s headliner performance at Coachella, I can hand-on-heart say that I’ve experienced very few bouts of FOMO in my life. If anything, I used to consider myself the queen of JOMO — reveling in chilling at home, putting my phone in airplane mode, and indulging my introvert self with plenty of alone time.
At first, buoyant with optimism, I viewed shelter-in-place as a way to optimize my life. Without a commute and in-person commitments, I’d have plenty of time to attend all the free online concerts, comedy shows, and cook-alongs popping up on my timeline.
The problem is that the part of me that wants to indulge in the escapism these cultural offerings provide can’t quite reconcile with the fact that there are only so many hours in the day — even with our warped sense of time in recent months. I’m juggling working from home, keeping in touch with loved ones, and trying to keep my mental well-being in check, leaving little room for every fun event that crosses my path.
Given we’re all collectively missing out on canceled concerts, festivals, and festivities that normally incite FOMO and that we all have access to the same online offerings, I assumed the fear of missing out would become obsolete.
Not so. I’ve realized there are several different kinds of FOMO — missing out on a fun-sounding virtual event is one, yes, but of course there are much larger moments that have been put on pause, like weddings, vacations, and seeing family. And there’s also the smaller, almost imperceptible kind of FOMO, like a missed exchange in conversation due to a lag during a video call. Muting and unmuting, screens freezing and unfreezing—precious opportunities are lost between these microscopic moments.
The city is working cautiously through its plan to ease us out of shelter-in-place, but the ways we operate in public spaces and social situations have been fractured beyond measure.
As much as I hate that I might let an exciting online event slip through my fingers, I think it’s not so much a fear of missing out on that but knowing what I’ve already missed. Virtual book clubs, happy hours, and workout classes are great, but every time I join one, I’m reminded of what I can’t physically have instead.
I want debates over potluck dinners. I want to hear 500 other people singing the same line of a song. I want to laugh along with a room full of people. I’m not quite at the stage yet where I miss someone else’s foot landing on my mat during a packed, sweaty Vinyasa class, but I’m close.
As summer gets underway, I’m also reminded of the events — canceled or postponed — that have become mainstays of my San Francisco experience. This was the year I was finally (probably) going to sign up for Bay to Breakers again, and it was definitely the year I was planning to play kickball in the park with friends and lie on a picnic blanket listening to the sounds of Hardly Strictly Bluegrass.
Yes, the city is working cautiously through its plan to ease us out of shelter-in-place, but the ways we operate in public spaces and social situations have been fractured beyond measure. Even if I can go back to my favorite local brunch spot, should I? I know my mind will be in overdrive thinking about how socially distanced the line is, how close the tables are to one another, how it’s not the same without a friend or three leaning over to steal a sliver of my pancake. And if I choose to stay inside and watch the brunch line as it snakes around the block and in front of my building, I’ll be back to square one with feeling like I’m missing out.
This is the summer of FOMO, the summer of dreaming about what could have been.
There’s a quote that’s popped up a lot recently on the internet: “You are not working from home; you are at your home during a crisis trying to work.” That same logic applies to our social lives. It’s become apparent that this is a marathon, not a sprint, and although the Bay Area is gradually beginning to reopen, we still have a long way to go before normality resumes and I can feel like I’m no longer missing out.
