Missing Out and Loving It
Everyone wants to be happy while staying productive. Sitting around and wasting the time away isn’t an option. We would rather place ourselves in dangerous situations for the story’s sake than to be idle or unnecessarily involved in pointless activities.
Yet, we often do this more than we realize. We pile a list of things to do, only to discover we’ve compounded our issue with time and the slippery grasp of it.
To be fair, it’s not completely our fault. Our society tells us if we want to be viewed as relevant prospects, worthy of a share in the real world, we must fill our lives with lists of things to do, people to meet, and places to go.
But what if the common notion of doing more for the sake of being relevant was actually hurting you instead of helping you?
I remember agreeing to take thirty days away from social media with a good friend of mine. He was the type to face any challenge, no matter how difficult or bizarre. It’s just who he is as a person. And it rubbed off on me.
Keep in mind it had taken a while to have the kind of attention I was receiving on these social platforms. Thousands of followers waiting eagerly to see what I had up my sleeve next. They were a key part of my life until then.
Day one, I felt as if I had made the biggest mistake. The feeling of missing out on so much erupted inside. I’d been conditioned to feel this way because social media was how I coped with the “empty” spaces during the day.
If there was nothing else to do, I’d whip out my phone and begin the time-consuming trend of scrolling and double tapping. Before I knew it, the day had passed and the openness of my time was gone, again.
Along with this life-altering decision came the promise to delete all applications pertaining to social media from my phone. No more Facebook. No more Instagram. Goodbye Twitter.
Minutes would pass, and I’d find myself in a state of confusion, searching for a way to remedy this aching hunger inside. My phone was of no good use anymore, it seemed to me. What am I supposed to do with it now? I thought.
Day seven, the displeasure I felt so far was starting to spill over on paper. Grabbing a notebook and writing about how much I missed social media had become a habit, an alternative. The pages filled fast with words of anger and frustration. I’d even read more books. But in my mind, I was abandoning my “friends.”
Or so I assumed.
Midway through the 30-day challenge, I replaced those “empty” spaces in time with family and exercising, reading and writing. Friends were now the ones who sat in front of me, or who texted me spontaneously to see how life was going, showing up to check on the status of my well-being instead of the status of my latest post.
At that moment, it was like I was awakened from a deep sleep. So much time was wasted before. There was nothing productive happening within the slots of time being used to gaze into the lives of so many people who didn’t contribute anything significant to my own life.
Then came the final day.
What I had experienced over the last twenty-nine days stuck with me more than any tweet ever did. And I didn’t want it to end.
It was no longer about getting a million things done without hopping on Twitter for a peak. It wasn’t about depriving myself of the good that does exist on Instagram or Facebook.
It was about focusing on what mattered most in my life during the time that was available. It was about cherishing moments with family, profound talks with friends, and creative tasks that produced unexplainable satisfaction—all apart from the day-to-day routine still charging along as usual.
As an introvert, the underlining factor that plagued my time was social media. I found it mentally and physically exhausting being around large crowds of people without an intended purpose, and still do.
My body and desire to stay simply clock out after a period of time. This is especially the case if I don’t know anyone there. So I would use times alone to “recharge” so to speak, using my social platforms as a form of escapism from the noise.
Hence I was afraid of missing out on the trends, the chatter, and the gossip during the challenge. There were too many photos going unseen by my eyes. And my thumbs longed for a second chance to double-tap. But in the end, I discovered a greater delight—the freedom to create and learn.
Of course, this may not be your exact circumstance.
Perhaps, being the extrovert that you are, missing out on a large get-together is torture. The idea of chatting or dancing in a throng of strangers sounds more appealing than intimidating. Meetings are pieces of a delicious cake, easily digestible. You just find being around other people flat out fun.
It may be that in those moments you find the “recharge” I experience alone. And if that’s the case, don’t fight it. Don’t try to be someone you’re not for the sake of fitting in and blending with the crowd.
You will hurt yourself doing this. By forcing yourself outside of who you are, you will obscure the lines of your own happiness.
So the question for both of us is not predicated on either introversion or extraversion, facing the two against each other as enemies in battle. Rather, the question is presented for a common advantage:
Because no matter how much we oppose the idea, we all have something that collides with our ability to produce the unheard-of. There is always something out there encouraging stagnation. And it is that we fight against.
So at the end of my day, I have no problem with going to my place of refuge and closing the door, away from the noise and distractions that be. I have no problem with opening my journal to an empty page and unleashing the texture of my imagination. For it is where I am most happy.
Kevin Horton is a photographer, college student, modest book-worm, and wanna-be web developer with a new-found love for writing. He writes helpful words about creativity, productivity, and the enjoyably simple life.
’Til next time, thanks for reading!
Missing Out and Loving It
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