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There was a time when I used to think that if I wasn’t at every party hosted by my friends (and enemies), didn’t watch every single movie (good, bad, or dreadfully and sinfully ugly) or show (before I got influenced by every review—from legit film critics and the “I-post-on-Twitter-therefore-I-am-a-writer” wannabes) on the first day, didn’t beat myself up daily in my yearning to live by the beach (even though I get a cold just stepping into the water and cannot swim), and didn’t believe so strongly that if I just got 10 more followers to hit 1k on Instagram, that suddenly my life would have no meaning.

That by not being able to do so, I was somehow failing at life.

I sometimes think I spent a significant part of my life with FOMO (fear of missing out), even though I had no idea that’s what it was because even a decade and change back, the term FOMO didn’t exist. But I knew and felt deeply that I was the only one missing out on all the things that made life worthwhile.

So, yes, I believed I was always being left behind. I feared becoming irrelevant, which is a joke in itself since I was never cool enough to actually be relevant! I feared waking up one day and finding that the world had moved on without me. (Spoiler alert: it had.)

But somewhere between burnout, feeling the angsty soul-chafing misery of never measuring up, and spending time holding onto a can of Diet Coke—wondering if it would be more poisonous to drink the regular, non-diet version and die a slow and painful death but with a smile on my face, or drink the diet version and die a slow and painful death from the dishwater taste all diet colas seem to have—I had a quiet, powerful realization:

What if I’m not missing out? What if I’m just taking a beat?

What if this is everything that life is supposed to be, and not some catastrophic failure or me being lazy? What if this is my mind and body telling me to just…halt. Pause. Think. Introspect.

Because let’s be real (and not that I was ever that dynamic), but not everyone can do everything all the time. I think I figured that one out soon enough. But what came as a pleasant surprise to me was that I no longer wanted to.

Hustling to get that final piece of pizza from your ingrate of a sibling? Exhausting. I just order a new one for myself.

Listening to folks drone on about crap that has no relevance to me? About husbands and children that I don’t have or want? I tune them out with a freaky smile on my face, and luckily, seem to know when to nod yes and shake my head no.

Pretending to always be on? Or win a non-existent Best Friend Award for being clued in and always there? Yep, been there, done that. No more. Why should I? Especially when sleeping is so much better?

I don’t care to lie to myself anymore.

Once I realized that I no longer wanted to play the FOMO game, life started to get so much better.

Let me be clear: My life now is so boring. Like boring AF. But it’s also easier. Calmer.

And I firmly believe that Boring is the new FOMO.

This is how I have calibrated my life—vegging, sleeping, and not giving a flying f*ck about what doesn’t matter to me has now become the most sacred thing to me…and ramen in bed in the middle of the night. Like, who am I kidding? That’s equally as sacred.

Below are my resting rituals, or how I fearlessly miss out in order to be boring and live to tell my tale:

1. I tune out, with or without an apology.

Sometimes I feel guilty, and most times I apologize because saying sorry doesn’t take a lot out of me. But if things get to be too much, I just shut down. Sometimes I explain. Sometimes I don’t. I shrug it off and move on. I’ll rejoin the world when I choose to, and not a moment before. Adiós, amigo!

2. I don’t do crowds anymore. And have rediscovered my love for food.

Okay, I lied. I never quite lost my love for all things good (and bad) about food, but now it’s a sacred time. Eating quietly and by myself, and savoring every bite is a sacred ritual for me. Dining out at the latest hotspot in town with some of the most popular Page Six folks in town? Sayonara! Enjoy! Have a drink for me! But I stay home and put my fingers to good use. The Uber Eats delivery guy is my new best friend.

3. I don’t doom scroll on Instagram.

This one is hard. For someone who loved reading books that were 1,000 pages long, I now find I can’t even finish watching one minute of an Insta reel. This is something I’m making a conscious effort to get over.

4. I stare into space. On purpose.

Not meditating. Not manifesting. Just… staring. Sometimes I randomly nod my head, like a glitchy old Windows screen saver. It’s the cheapest form of therapy I’ve found, and I highly recommend it.

5. I celebrate tiny wins like they’re Nobel Prizes.

Washed my hair? Yes! Folded laundry? Iconic! Didn’t cry in the bathroom today? A living legend! These small acts are huge. They mean I’m trying. They mean I’m still here.

6. I rest as my new job. 

Because guess what? It kind of is. The world doesn’t give a sh*t if you burn out. But your body and your inner self will. So, normalize doing nothing.

If you’re sitting this one out, if you’re declining the invite, skipping the post, turning off the camera, or choosing solitude over sensation—know this:

You’re not missing out.

You’re tuning in.

You’re finding yourself.

And maybe—just maybe—that’s the most radical thing we can all do.

~