“I’m over my FOMO,” my daughter Ally remarked.
“FOMO?” I asked blankly. “What’s that?”
“You know—Fear of Missing Out. I thought I needed to move back to San Francisco as soon as possible so I could be part of the scene there. But my friends tell me it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
Ally was poised to spend another year in Spain, this time in Barcelona. Even those creating the scene she didn’t want to miss might envy Ally’s soon-to-be life in the World Capital of Where It’s Happening. So I didn’t quite get it.
Which is no surprise, really: My standard m.o. is missing out on everything.
“I live under a rock,” I frequently say by way of explanation when my friends share a juicy tidbit about a celebrity I’ve never heard of, or talk about TV shows, technology, the latest books, or how the Giants are doing.
“Giants are baseball, 49ers are football, right?” I contribute to the discussion.
Trouble is, I feel bad about inhabiting the limbo between wanting to be in the know but being too lazy or overwhelmed to get there. Not following the news as I once did may preserve my sanity, but I view it as a failure of citizenship. I know about some great TV series, but am always seasons behind on Homeland, The Good Wife, Justified. (Breaking Bad, The Wire, and Mad Men I’ve missed out on altogether.) And don’t get me started on how bad I feel about my technophobia!
But death as an exit strategy from the dismal feeling of falling farther and farther behind isn’t a very appealing option either.
I wish I could be more like people who have JOMO: Joy of Missing Out.
Like my mother-in-law, who, when I try to explain Facebook, asks in disbelief, “Why would anyone want to do that? Why not pick up the phone?”
Or my daughter Emma, who is mystified by her sister’s failure to see the ruination wrought by “progress,” and who proudly hangs on to her flip-phone.
Or my friend Sally, who has a horror of answering any phone, and doesn’t fret about her social media savvy or lack thereof. (Sally also believes that dog boutiques catering to people who buy jeweled collars signify the demise of civilization.)
These wise ones could all care less about keeping up with anything or anyone.
How I envy their JOMO!
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Do you tend more toward FOMO or JOMO?
I’m with Sally! So good to know I’m not alone . . .
Loving your posts, Lorrie, and in awe of the daily practice and perfection of each of them.
Thanks, Joanne!
Couldn’t care less about football. Or any sport – what’s the point? Keep up with the News by watching BBC News a couple of times a week. If a war breaks out I’m pretty sure someone will mention it to me at some point. We have too much info. However, I’m very happy to play on Facebook (not the games though, never the games). And I love technology. Never heard of Fomo and Jomo before, so thanks for that! ~Liz http://www.lizbrownleepoet.com
Thanks for visiting, Liz. I’d never heard of FOMO before my daughter enlightened me. And I coined JOMO–though another reader tells me that’s how natives of Joplin, Missouri, refer to their town.
OHMYGOSH, we may be the same person! So nice to hear someone else confess they’re too lazy (or overwhelmed, but usually lazy) to care enough about many, many things. How many times I’ve seen a post on Facebook where something vague but horrible has been posted with no further explanations. My first reaction is to wonder what happened and think I should look back at earlier posts to see if there are clues (I do love a good mystery story), but then I realize I really don’t care enough to bother.
By the way, when I saw your title, I got a little excited, because I actually LIVE in JOMO – the local nickname for Joplin, Missouri :)
Who knew I had a long lost twin in the Midwest? And that my coinage of JOMO is not original! Thanks so much for all your great comments.
Like you I don’t know one sports star or team from another… and ask me if I care. ;-) I’m not a social media freak and I could careless about having the latest phone or technical gadget… but I do carry a cell phone. I just don’t answer it if I don’t recognize the number.
I lived for 17 years down in Hermosa and Redondo and my dad sold to the studios… I could care less about the stars and what they are up to… they deserve a private life. Actually, I would prefer that they kept their lives private.
See living under a rock can be handy. I enjoyed your post.
Thanks–you’re right–living under a rock can be very handy!
Ever since you started your “challenge” writing I have been anxiously awaiting each new arrival. The hills are alive …..and so are you …..with wit and wisdom.
Thanks, John! And everyday I’m anxiously awaiting whether or not I’ll have anything to write for the next letter! Glad you’re enjoying it.
I slept through the whole second half of an L.A. Rams football game, sitting in the stadium. I had just started beauty college and wasn’t used to standing on my feet all day. So, I love your JOMO football games photo. Needless to say, my boyfriend, who took me to the game, was really angry with me. We went with another couple and he thought I was rude.
Yes, I am reaching that JOMO stage beyond that one instance in 1972. I am so with you on the experiences/reactions you write about above. I’ve simply relegated it to my being obsolete, and I go engage in what interests me.
Great writing, Lorrie. I am glad to meet you on the A-Zs.
Thanks, Samantha! Isn’t that the perfect picture? I’m still not entirely sure what FOMO is, but I suspect that JOMO is preferable. Glad to meet you, too.
Lorrie, I am enjoying your A to Z. I am learning to be more of a JOMO, especially about organized sports. One reason I love Downton Abbey is that it is one of the few mass cultural experiences that I can join in and feel like I am participating in something that isn’t perceived as just elitist. Actually, it is still a PBS event and I guess that limits its viewership. I didn’t comment on your H piece, but I think that one is my favorite so far.
Thanks, Ilene–so glad you’re enjoying it. I am so with you on Downton Abbey (though of course we’re always behind). One of the reasons I love our movie group so much is that movies are one of the FEW things I feel relatively up on (assuming I can remember the movie, but that’s a whole other story).
Glad you liked “Hero Worship.” Of course, missing out on everything, I didn’t even hear about the Detroit Walking Man until it was a news item of the past–but that heinous letter in the IJ caught my eye, so I looked it up. Also, of course, I didn’t get around to responding to that letter until two months later–but that’s one of the nice things about blogs, which are forgiving about timelines–at least if you have a readership that is primarily JOMO!
I’m definitely more a JOMO – I try and keep up with technology but don’t want to be a slave to it. I have a twitter account but don’t use it and I don’t post much on Facebook. I will eventually catch up on some of the much talked about TV shows but we have cable not SKY so can’t get the really big shows until we can get them on DVD (or borrow them from the kids) I often start texting the kids and we’ll be half way through a conversation and I’ll call them because it’s easier to get the response I need.
Goodness, I can’t even contemplate Twitter without blanching, though people tell me it is essential for aspiring writers. Sigh. DVD series, on the other hand, are a terrific invention–can turn someone who is basically JOMO into someone who is more or less culturally relevant!
My husband is so far beyond JOMO, he is the very definition of a Luddite. Me, I’m in between. Some things I prefer to experience last, if at all, like TV shows (we finally finished watching West Wing and the Sopranos!) or movies (can’t stand crowded movie theaters). Socially or technology-wise I’m closer to cutting edge. What is the cross between JOMO and FOMO?
I think in-between is an ideal place to be, especially if you are not conflicted about it, like I am. And if you liked West Wing, check out Borgen–sort of like a Danish West Wing, though infinitely better IMO (see how hip I am to know that?). Anyway, we will have to puzzle out the correct acronym for the in-between state . . . Hmmm.