Thursday, 15 December 2022
I only learnt what FOMO was a few months ago (I live under a rock and things like BRB, YOLO, TTYL etc. are completely lost on me). Apparently FOMO is a real thing! I’m grateful there is now a groovy little acronym for it. Example of FOMO: friends have finished their exams and are out partying/celebrating … you’ve still got at least one to go (which is your own fault – you could have finished at the same time but because you’re a chronic over-achiever, girly-swat, you elected to do that extra subject ….)
So what is it called when you are actually, missing out – not just the fear of it? I guess that’s just MO (missing out) or in my case POFAMO (Pissed Off as Fuck At Missing Out). I’ve had lots of POFAMO over the years but 2022 takes the cake.
This afternoon I was seriously POFAMO. After a few days of crazy juggling, meltdowns, stress, Simon and the kids finally got on a plane to the UK. Simon has worked insanely hard to get to this point – only to be thrown work, dog, personal and passport curveballs at the 11th hour. But they made it to the airport and once there, the kids inhaled no less than 15 rounds of gourmet dishes in the First Class Lounge before boarding CX100 to Heathrow via Hong Kong. Just after 3pm I received pics of them beaming and happy. And I was so happy for them! The children have not seen their English grandparents for years (thank you COVID). But I can’t say I’m not envious, I am. It has taken all my big-girl strength to remember it’s about them – not me (damn it).
Designer Birkenstocks
I’m not a therapist, I don’t know how to reconcile all those feeeelings. I just accept that that-thing-happened-and-it was-good-for-those-people. I would have liked that thing to happen for me too. But it didn’t. Is that ok? No, not really. But, that’s what happened. Can you change what happened? No. Well that’s a bitch. Would you like to Turn Back Time (dressed in a black lacy corset on the deck of an aircraft carrier)? Yes, I would. But I can’t, that’s not real life. So …. how long am I going to feel ripped off and wish I was there on that plane? Not sure. Should I google or download an app to help me work-through this unpleasant feeling? No, because they’re usually designed by a bunch of unscrupulous cretins who spruik themselves as life-coaches/therapists/yogis but are simply two nerdy, entrepreneurial (straight) young men from Byron Bay. I can see them now … sitting at the Sunday Sustainable Bakery, wearing their designer Birkenstocks, drinking organic oat milk lattes, eating their vegan cinnamon quinoa breakfast bowl thinking …. ‘how can we fleece some more money out of these suckers?’ Plus they always have in-app purchases. So if I can’t turn to the internet ... what do I do? I don’t want to talk to people (in real life?!)
Instead I just be. Exist. Feel. Sleep. Cry. I might wake up tomorrow feeling strong, euphoric, empowered. I might wake up tomorrow feeling sad, depressed, weak. Tomorrow is another day. That doesn’t mean tomorrow will necessarily be a ‘good day’. Sometimes I’ve been too expectant – thinking a new day will bring less pain, it will be easier, everything will go so much … better. Then it doesn’t. Instead it’s different day, different shit. A wise man said to me recently, ‘set expectations low’ – I think he’s on to something.
The Full Bush Rat
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