Forget FOMO, look for JOMO – joy of missing out. (Let me know if you find it)

Do you suffer from FOMO? You might like to know that that’s out of fashion now (sorry). Apparently it's all about JOMO now – in case you are as deeply uncool as I am, that's the Joy Of Missing Out.

The terminology may be new to me, but the concept certainly holds appeal. Unfortunately my long-held pattern of comparing myself to others presents a challenge. 

The joy of missing out essentially means being happy with what you have right now, and not wishing you had someone else's life – someone more glamorous, more popular, more successful. (This isn't, however, the same as staying stagnant and not pushing yourself towards your dreams.) It means being OK with sitting on the couch on a Saturday night devouring corn chips and watching The Big C box set while your friends are posting party pics on Facebook. And being OK with that because you have other things to look forward to. That’s next-level contentment, right there.

It comes back to acceptance. If you're happy with where your life is at – or even if you're not, but you believe it will change – you have no need to compare yourself with others. If you can nail that, missing out really could be a joy.
I like this. I wish I could honestly look at other people's lives and not feel that I am missing out. Back in early January I wrote about my struggle with comparison on social media. Well, I'm still struggling (clearly). Maybe I always will.                

Two months ago I felt so miserable about how my life compared to other people (ie unfavourably) that I

decided the best solution was to unfollow all the people on Instagram who were doing life better than me. People on incredible trips overseas. People loved up, and flaunting it (which they're perfectly entitled to do). People with strong eyebrow game. This seemed like such a good idea!

It was a terrible idea. 

In my defence, I was the far side of a bottle of shiraz at the time. But, still. While many of these people were high profile, some were regular people… my friends. One of my mates called me out on this – and good on her – by asking why I'd cut her off. Ouch. I still have not been able to bring myself to refollow these people – it's just too embarrassing. How do I explain? "Sorry for unfollowing you, I was feeling inadequate and jealous." Yeah, that'll go down well. 

I'm well aware that what we see on social media are very carefully curated snippets of people’s lives that are not indicative of their reality. I know this, and yet, I still find myself comparing my behind the scenes with the beautiful people’s highlights reels, as the saying goes. Also, removing the triggers (ie people whom I might envy at any given moment) from my eyeline is hardly going to help me resolve the root problem: a lack of self-acceptance.

Self-acceptance is something that comes up for me time after time in my reiki sessions, so I know that this, or a lack thereof, is playing a big part in holding me back. No matter how many times I tell myself that I AM good enough, I struggle to completely believe it. As yet, I have not found a way to shift this block in my thinking.

I know it is up to me, and that I’m not powerless, but right now I’m struggling to figure out how to move forward on this.

JOMO? I’ll aim for JO-maybe.

Regrets? I've had a few. Nothing wrong with that

I’m always suspicious of people who declare that they have no regrets.

I bet you know someone who has stated, with a sense of pride: “If I had to do it all again, I wouldn’t change anything.”

Really? Sure about that? You wouldn’t decide to wear a different dress to your mate’s 21st so you didn’t turn up wearing the same thing as his girlfriend? You wouldn’t have avoided that pothole so you didn’t hit a tree and write off your car? You wouldn’t have ended your dead-end relationship sooner so you could have been happier earlier? You wouldn’t have applied sunscreen every single day so you didn’t end up with an alarming amount of wrinkles in your 30s? (That sunscreen song from the 90s was right about UV protection, you know).You wouldn’t change anything? 

I don’t believe you.

Let me tell you, there isn’t much I wouldn’t change if I could. 

I would back myself and aim higher in my career instead of opting to float in the achievement-free zone of freelancing, so that I would have something to show for the past five years, to name just one.

I totally understand that everything that has happened has shaped my life and my character for the better, and that I couldn’t have learned the lessons I’ve learned any other way. The suffering was necessary then, but it is not necessary now. I also understand that regret is unhealthy – not to mention unhelpful, considering we have no means of turning back time (still hanging out for that time-machine technology, Doc).

I know all this, and yet I still have regrets – but I don’t regard that as a bad thing. 

A lot of spiritual people bang on about embracing your past, warts and all, and how liberating this is. I’m sure it probably is, but I don’t think it’s realistic, or even necessary. 

Personally, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with acknowledging that things have not worked out the way you had hoped. I do agree, though, that holding on to pain around what’s happened will hold you back. 

So here’s my approach. Instead of embarking on a futile mission to embrace all that shitty stuff, I’m working on acceptance. I can’t change what I’ve done, or what’s been done to me, but I absolutely can change how much I let those things affect me now. I see acceptance as a middle ground between celebrating unsavoury events and languishing in regret. What this means is freedom from self-flagellation over my choices, without labouring under the delusion that I should* be happy about things that did not, and never will, make me happy. 

It’s possible to be grateful for the lessons while still wishing their circumstances had been different.

If something sucks, I’m not going to pretend otherwise. You can’t put glitter on a poo, as an old editor of mine used to say (he was talking about a poorly written story, but the same message applies here). This doesn’t mean playing the ‘if only’ game though. Everything is not awesome, but it is OK. Maybe we should just focus on that. 

*I hate the word ‘should’ – it’s loaded with so much expectation and a sense that you are failing at something – and I use it sparingly. In this case I think it was warranted. 

Just listen. It's all anyone needs you to do

Technology might make it easier for us to forge new connections as well as maintain relationships with those who are far away, but it’s also eroding relationships with those who are close to us. In his book Focus, leading US psychologist Daniel Goleman (whose work is fascinating, BTW) has written about how technology is killing our attention spans. We are so used to the barrage of information presented to us that we lose interest when forced to focus on just one thing, or one person. What that means for relationships is this: “Being able to focus on the other person rather than the text you just received has become the new fundamental requirement for having a relationship with that person,” Daniel says.

The reason I bring this up is not to lament our increasingly scattered and superficial social interactions – although that is concerning – but to reflect on a really important facet of relationships that I feel I am in danger of forgetting how to do: listening.


It does feel, at least to me, that it’s harder than ever to be fully engaged in a conversation with someone else, and the influence of so much competing stimuli is surely part of the problem. (Although to be fair, I’ve always had a short attention span.) To be fully engaged in a conversation means listening – really listening – to the other person, which is as important in our interactions people we know as it is with those we don’t.

A few weeks ago I was on a bus trip home, writing in my notebook, when an old man sitting next to me suddenly asked me what I was focusing on so intently. This started a conversation that lasted the entire journey home and covered: handwriting styles, the best and worst places in the world we’d each visited and the history of the suburbs we were travelling through. I realised how bewildering it must be to someone of his generation to see everyone staring at their phones or listening to music – anything but engaging with the people and places around them. Everyone is trying to be somewhere other than where they are. As I got off the bus he thanked me for listening and said how much he’d enjoyed our chat (I had too).

This was an important reminder that giving someone our complete attention, and really taking in what they’re saying, is such a beautiful and underrated thing to do. Dave Isay, winner of the 2015 TED Prize, describes listening as an act of generosity and love. StoryCorps is a project Dave founded where two people who know each other sit in a mobile recording booth with a facilitator for 40 minutes of conversation. Essentially, they interview each other – many treating this as a ‘what I would say if this was our last conversation together’ scenario – and what comes out of that is a new understanding about the other person and a deeper connection to them. A recording of their conversation is available for a fee to cover costs. Dave is now developing an app to allow people to have these meaningful conversations at home.

“So much of how we communicate is fleeting and inconsequential,” says Dave in his TED talk. “I’ve learned about the poetry and wisdom and grace that can be found in the words of people all around us when we simply take the time to listen.”

What I’ve been reminded of lately how powerful the simple act of listening is. All anyone wants is to be heard. To be understood, yes, but most importantly to be heard. Our ears are as important in meaningful interactions as our hearts are. By listening to someone – whether it’s a random man on the bus or your significant other – you are bringing integrity to that exchange, affirming that that person matters and validating their human experience. That is the best gift you could give anyone. I hope, that in an age with so much competing for our attention, I never forget how to do that.  

Why (and how) rejection hurts. And learning not to fear that pain

Hands up everyone who isn't afraid of rejection! 

Oh, nobody? I thought so.

The first thing that pops into my mind when I think of rejection is a memory of being the last one picked for sports teams at school, Freaks and Geeks style. Bring out the violins.

But rejection happens in adulthood too, and it's not only destructive on an emotional level, it has an impact on your physical health.


In his book Emotional First Aid, psychologist Guy Winch writes that rejection is such a strong emotion that the body experiences it like physical pain. Remember, for example, what it feels like to be dumped: "You might have felt pressure suffocating you, had trouble breathing or had jabbing pain like a sharp knife," Guy writes. (BTW, Guy's TED talk on emotional first aid is moving and insightful, if you're interested.)

This shows how intensely rejection can affect us. But it isn't a connection with physical pain that makes me as afraid of being rejected now as I was in my childhood. The reason fear of rejection stalks me today is all about self-protection.

My worst experience of rejection in adulthood was in 2013 when my then-best friend squeezed me out of the close-knit circle of friends I'd had since my university days. I had no choice but to walk away, but the cost was high. No more sun-loving barbecue invitations. No more giggly brunches. No more daily email banter. Suddenly lonely evenings and weekends stretched out before me like a vast wasteland. My phone never rang. I'm sure my friends had their reasons - there are always two sides to the story - and it would be remiss of me not to admit that I was not a great friend to them either. Knowing that we were moving in different directions, and would have drifted apart anyway, didn't ease my despair - it was the slap of being rejected that hurt. Essentially, my worthiness as a friend and as a human being had been assessed by people who knew me incredibly well, and judged to be inadequate. The message: I am not good enough. The effects on my already-low self-esteem were catastrophic.

I wrapped my wings around my fractured heart and retreated into isolation. I stopped talking to people. I was cold to people who tried to connect with me. I stopped attending the few social events from other connections that came up. These were not conscious actions; they were the response to an unconscious belief playing in the background. This belief told me not to get close to anyone because I could not face the chances - which I believed to be high - of being rejected again. 

I'd love to tell you that this fear disappeared but it is more accurate to say it has only lessened slightly. After moving to a new city I have found myself in a great social circle of warm and wonderful people - yay! - but it has been difficult to learn to let people in. I have several confidantes, but I am careful not to lean on anyone too much. I don't have a best friend and I don't want one - that's way too risky.

Obviously there are a bunch of other self-esteem issues going on here too, which I've had for decades and have chronicled in other posts (like this one), as well as my natural (and entirely healthy) tendency towards introversion. But fear of rejection is almost certainly a factor in my reluctance to build deep relationships, both platonic and otherwise. 

Is this really a problem, though? I mean, it's keeping me safe, so that's useful. Is a fear of rejection even a thing that needs fixing? I've thought about this a lot, and my answer is yes and no. The thing is, fear never goes away. You can mute it but it will still be there, shapeshifting into another form (such as fear of failure). 

So I can't fix it. But I can change the way I respond to it. I can find new ways to arrest these thoughts when they appear before me, masquerading as my reality. I can go badass detective on the messages I send myself, and subject them to interrogation to determine their validity, instead of simply following their well-intended but ultimately self-limiting directives. I can push back on the thoughts that tell me the risk of letting down some of my barriers and simply being myself in my interactions with others is too great, and would lead to rejection. 

Of course, I don't *have* to do any of these things. 

But. 

If I don't, I'm essentially telling myself that I'm not good enough - which is the very message this fear is trying to protect me from receiving from others. By allowing myself to risk being rejected, I'm backing myself and saying I am worthy of being accepted, and that I'm resilient enough to deal with the consequences of possible rejection. In doing so, I'm accepting myself, which may not diminish my fear of rejection any but it seems like a pretty good start. 

Don’t judge me for eating meat. Or sugar. Or carbs

I accidentally became embroiled in a fight on social media over the weekend. Normally I don’t engage with people who are clearly trying to start an argument, as this woman was, but this comment, posted on a Facebook spiritual group page, enraged me:

“We’re all vegans here, right?”

Look, I know I shouldn’t have taken the bait, but these sort of sanctimonious statements really give me the shits (to borrow an Aussie colloquialism). I have no beef (sorry, couldn't resist that pun) with vegans or vegetarians – in fact, I admire them for the courage of their convictions – but I do have an issue with people who pass judgement on anyone whose beliefs don’t align with their own. I shot back:

“Would it be a problem for you if we weren’t?”

She replied with an attacking comment that was poorly worded and poorly punctuated (if you’re going to go shoving your opinions down people’s throats you might at least learn how to express them clearly and correctly!), basically saying that meat is murder. I wrote back:

“I know you mean well but it’s only fair that you respect me, and others, for my decision not to be vegan just as much as I respect your decision TO be vegan.”

Her reply called into question the extent that I could rightly call myself spiritual if I do not shun animal products. Oh boy. I wanted to reply that being spiritual is not a competition, and that if she needed to take down other people she had probably missed the point of spirituality entirely. I wanted to tell her that there is no merit in professing kindness towards animals if she is going to dish out contempt to humans who don’t meet her standards of kindness.

Instead I gently reminded her that what other people believe, or eat, is none of her business, and no one has the right to judge others for their choices. Several vegans and vegetarians weighed into this debate and complained that this woman was giving them a bad name. Which is very unfair, as the vast majority of vegans and vegetarians I've met are secure enough in themselves that they don’t need to preach or convert other people to their cause.

The thing this exchange highlighted for me is the way some people are assessing the worth of people based on what they eat.

I’m seeing this food judgement a lot lately. Look at your Instagram feed and you’ll see what I mean: there are people shunning sugar, carbs and cooked foods who think their nutrition choices make them morally superior. People who are using what they put on their plate – or, more to the point, what they don’t – to make some sort of religious statement. And they think this means they are doing life better than you are.

This deeply concerns me. Not only because the last thing we need is another reason to judge each other, but because it fosters a climate where orthorexia is more difficult to detect and, more worryingly, celebrated.

Orthorexia*, if you haven’t heard of it, is an emerging eating disorder where sufferers become obsessed with eating only pure foods. This psychological condition is very serious. Not only because eliminating anything – never mind a whole litany of things – from your diet is going to make you unhealthy and nutritionally deficient, but because orthorexia is a gateway to anorexia, which can be fatal. 

Orthorexics think about food every single minute of every day. They experience anxiety if they can’t eat foods that conform to their rigid standards. They punish themselves if they break their own rules. The only experiences that matter in their lives are tied to the integrity of what they are eating. This is the tipping point where very healthy becomes very unhealthy, and it’s an extremely destructive way to live – emotionally, mentally and physically.

Obviously, orthorexia isn’t the same as choosing to live a vegan, paleo or sugar-free lifestyle, but when nutrition choices lead people to judge others who don’t share their vision, there’s a danger that they may be taking their food philosophy too seriously. And if a commitment to a restrictive diet becomes extreme, that’s a problem.

I’d like to see us all become more accepting of what other people choose to eat. I actually can’t believe I just wrote that – like, I can’t believe I needed to write that. I don’t care whether you chow down on a dirty street pie or you reach for an organic, cold-pressed smoothie. Just don’t judge me for going with the pie. Your smoothie doesn’t make you better than me.

This shows a feature I wrote about orthorexia, published in NEXT magazine (New Zealand), October 2014