FOMO: Implications for early morning drinking, and having children
Every year during football season, Purdue University (my alma mater) opens the bars at 7 am on Saturdays to kick off Breakfast Club: dubbed by ESPN as one of the Top 10 college pre-game parties. People are decked out in what can only be described as more ridiculous versions of the most ridiculous Halloween costumes. Screwdrivers and Bloody Marys are served from giant trash cans into ONLY 32 ounce mugs. Black tarps cover the windows to trick us into thinking it’s an okay time of day to start drinking, so we do.
On a mini-reunion with my friends earlier this year, my buddy Dan brought his girlfriend Leslie for her first trip to Purdue. I asked him if she knew what she was getting herself into with Breakfast Club. Dan said she’d likely not attend, given the intended 5 am wake-up call and her not being an early riser.
I asked Dan what had changed her mind. He shrugged and said, “FOMO.”
FOMO: Fear Of Missing Out
Never heard of it! But realized, instantly, that this was the driving force behind probably 95% of my decisions in life.
Is it easy getting up at five am to don superhero tights and slug back watery screwdrivers? No! Is it worth it? Yes! Because who knows what kind of crazy hijinx you might miss if you don’t attend. You might miss out on meeting Colonel Sanders.
Or Kurt Rambis.
Or a Star Wars Storm Trooper. (I forgot to ask how he goes to the bathroom in this get-up)
Now. Is it easy having kids? Hell no. I’m told the average parent loses six months of sleep in their first two years (not to mention hundreds of thousands of dollars in the first 18). Is it worth it? I have no idea. I imagine there are some very, very cool things I’ll never have the chance to experience without kids.
Like the opportunity to sport a macaroni necklace in public, ala Goldie Hawn in Overboard. (Kurt Russell’s finest work, for those who haven’t seen it). Or see a mini-me&drew, bond more with my parents by giving them grandkids, hear something hilarious come out of the mouth of something Drew and I created from scratch, give them funny names like Wolfgang and Bartholomew. Etcetera, etcetera.
But FOMO works both ways, you know. The thought of having kids makes me afraid of missing out on other things. Things like keeping in touch with friends, accomplishing anything outside of being a mother (like finishing, and publishing, my novel), feeling financially comfortable, being capable of conversation more interesting than my kid’s preference for strained squash over peas, staying sane, buying that RV with the airbrushed lions Drew and I have always coveted. (Yes, be jealous.→)
I guess the question is – on which side of the fence does the bigger FOMO lie?