The joy of less

Have you ever said “yes” to something you didn’t really want to do, just because you felt like you had to? A party, a project, a spontaneous trip, or even just a coffee date you weren’t in the mood for? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gone along with things because of one looming thought: What if I miss out? What if something amazing happens, and I’m not there to experience it? What if saying “no” means I fall behind, or worse, get forgotten?

This little monster—FOMO, or the Fear of Missing Out—is always lingering in the background, whispering, You’re not doing enough. It’s there when I scroll through social media and see people posting about their “amazing” lives. Trips to Bali, perfect couples’ photos, new promotions, endless celebrations. It’s like everyone has a ticket to a train I somehow missed, and I’m just stuck at the station wondering how they got on board.

FOMO hit me the hardest in friendships. I always felt like I had something to prove—that if I ever said “no” to an outing or a plan, it would somehow expose me as unimportant. I’d think, If I don’t go, they’ll realize they don’t really need me. They’ll have more fun without me, and I’ll just become an afterthought. So, I said “yes” to everything, even when I was exhausted, overwhelmed, or just didn’t feel like it. I juggled school, assignments, jobs, and social outings, always on the move, always proving my worth. I was hardly ever at home. And the few times I was? I felt sick to my stomach from being alone. The silence was unbearable, and it felt like a cruel reminder of everything I was running from.

Recently, someone told me about a theory that shifted the way I see this constant need to say “yes.” They said that when you always agree to plans, when you’re always available, people start to take you for granted. Invitations stop feeling like invitations—they’re more like assumptions. Oh, don’t bother asking her, she’s always down. You become a placeholder, someone people know will show up but don’t necessarily value as special. In contrast, the person who isn’t always available, who makes you work a little harder for their presence, somehow becomes more cherished. Their “yes” feels like a gift, not a given.

Hearing that stung a little because I realized how much of myself I’d given away trying to be indispensable. And now, I’m trying something new. I’m trying to embrace JOMO—the Joy of Missing Out. It’s not easy. Honestly, it’s harder than I thought it would be. Saying “no” feels like walking a tightrope with no safety net. There are nights when I turn down plans and then immediately question if I made a mistake. Did I let someone down? Are my friends laughing without me, realizing they didn’t need me after all?

It’s a constant tug-of-war in my mind, but I’m trying to focus on the bigger picture. What if by saying “no,” I’m actually making room for something better? Not necessarily something “more fun” or “more exciting,” but something more real. Maybe it’s a quiet evening at home where I finally feel at peace. Maybe it’s time to reflect and recharge, so the next time I say “yes,” it’s because I genuinely want to, not because I feel like I have to.

I won’t lie to you—there’s no grand epiphany here, no magical moment where I suddenly feel like I’ve mastered this balance. Some days, I still feel like I’m missing out. But I remind myself that life isn’t about cramming every possible experience into our schedules just to prove we’re living it right. Sometimes, less is more.

Kierkegaard once said, “Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.” I try to hold onto that when I feel uncertain. Maybe in the moment, it feels like I’m losing something by saying “no,” but what if I’m actually gaining something I can’t see yet?

It’s like standing in front of a locked door. It feels like you’re shutting yourself off, saying “no” to everything on the other side. But sometimes, locking that door is less about denial and more about choosing what deserves to enter. It’s about creating a space where you can pause, reflect, and grow, without the noise of the world crowding in.

So, what if I miss out? Honestly, I probably will. There will be parties I don’t attend, moments I’m not part of, opportunities that pass me by. But maybe that’s okay. Maybe life isn’t about being everywhere or doing everything. Maybe it’s about being exactly where you’re supposed to be—even if that’s at home, in your pajamas, watching the world carry on without you.