I lost my FOMO during the Pandemic

There’s much chatter out there about the beneficial changes in our lives due to Covid-19. After a bit of reflection, I came upon a stunning realization. I lost my FOMO during the viral outbreak.

Maybe you did, too?

Just in case you’re wondering, I checked. FOMO is in the Merriam-Webster dictionary. FOMO means fear of missing out: fear of not being included in something (such as an interesting or enjoyable activity) that others are experiencing.

Here’s a quote that gives life to the M-W definition: If anyone in history should have died from FOMO, it would be Emily Dickinson, an agoraphobe who virtually never left her house …— O. The Oprah Magazine

So how do you contract FOMO?

If you’re like me, you picked up FOMO when you signed up for your favorite flavor of social media. When I joined Facebook about ten years ago, I did so because friends had more or less shamed me into it. To get up and running, I turned to an expert – my middle-school aged daughter – who reluctantly set up my personal page.  When this same inhouse whiz kid entered high school, she and a bestie assisted me in updating my profile.  The pair giggled at my naivete and my cheeks flamed, and that was when I vowed to figure out the social media game on my own. (Two years ago, I set up my own author page and Insta account, but you won’t see many tweets from me.)

As a FB newbie, my initial efforts were tentative and infrequent. In those early years, I did more ‘liking’ than I did commenting. The folks I friended were posting photos of their travels, pet exploits, garden endeavors, dinners out, or new grandchildren.  I mimicked their efforts. Sometimes when I signed on FB, a little tickle of jealousy flared as I caught a glimpse of social gatherings that I’d missed out on. As a result, inside my head, FOMO rooted and flourished. Checking social media took on an unanticipated negative role. Instead of keeping up with old friends, FB became more about the fun others were having.

When the coronavirus swept through the country and we were all ordered to “shelter in place,” my FOMO faded.  No one was missing out on fun. No one was out, so there was no fun. We had all been thrust into survival mode.  Gone were the GNOs (Girls Night Outs) and book club gatherings. There were no more posts featuring tasty restaurant entrees and tempting craft cocktails. Any glitzy travel photos that popped up were either ads or old memories. In fact, the only posts that teased out my languishing FOMO were the ones from gloaters sharing their TP and Lysol wipe purchases.

These last few months, the fear of staying healthy extinguished all fear of missing out.  I doubt that my FOMO will return any time soon.  I have little desire to dine out inside a fancy restaurant, to hop aboard a plane or cruise ship, or to shop at my local outlet mall. I am grateful that my husband and me are both healthy, and those who I hold dear are still safe (I have my 87-year-old mother and 24-year-old daughter living with me again- the same sassy, know-it-all who launched my FB page all those years ago).

While I cannot predict whether my FOMO is gone for good, I can attest to this: the fear of what the future holds has usurped the top spot in a mounting list of worries.  I kind of miss my FOMO – it was easier to deal with than the new angsts.  To banish FOMO, I needed only to close my computer, but the fear of survival pounds me as soon as I open my eyes.

The more I think about this, I’m cheering for FOMO’s return. When FOMO makes a comeback, that will mean that life has returned to what it used to be.

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