Ahhh, the age old nemesis of productivity. A concept as old as time itself. It’s rumoured that God, at the dawn of the universe, could have created it all in three days but there was this big God-party thing that he really didn’t wanna miss, so he went on an absolute banger for two days and finally got around to finishing the universe on that 6th day (I swear that’s a legit story).

What is this idea I speak of? The Fear of Missing Out, of course. More than 50% of any person’s reasoning for going out on any occasion is because they’re afraid they’ll miss the ‘best’ night. Nobody wants to hear their annoyingly smug friend recant the happenings of the night before, when all you got up to was 6 cups of tea and some shitty Saturday night tv. Oh heavens no. For this reason alone, most of us will bear down and go out when we don’t really want to, just in case something good happens.

9/10 times you go out for reasons powered by FOMO, you find yourself standing alone in the club at some point around 1am, just after slugging back yet another shot of tequila or zambuca, and wondering why in the name of fuck you even bothered to go out. Like, you just wasted a load of money, it’s late so you’re probably not pulling at this stage, and there’s absolutely no craic. In this situation, you can take solace in the fact that many a sesh warrior has fallen victim to this universal enemy. The fear of missing out has cost millions of people across history, happiness, on the day after the night before.

It’s weird that FOMO is such a fundamental fucking human experience. Everyone seems to get it. Granted it might have some evolutionary purpose, but on day-to-day terms it is just an inconvenience really. Imagine, if you didn’t give a fuck about missing a session, or a party or whatever? You’d be so much more productive because you’d 100% go out less. You’d only go out when you really wanted to instead of when you felt you had to. It’d be fucking paradise. Every night you went out would actually be a good night. Instead, we just roll the dice and hope t’fuck that the sesh-Gods look upon us with favour.

But I guarantee you this (well, I actually physically can’t guarantee anything). Every time you go out for no other reason than FOMO, the Gods of the session are ensuring your night turns into an unbearable shit-show (Not literally of course, that would be disgusting).


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