If the famous marshmellow test is any sign of maturity- I fail miserably.
The Stanford marshmellow experiment refers to a series of studies on delayed gratification in the late 1960’s. In these studies, a child was offered a choice between one small reward (often a marshmellow) provided immediately or two small rewards if he/she waited until the experimenter returned (approx 15 minutes). In follow up studies, those who waited were found to have better life outcomes.
I do not want to miss anything, I do not want to delay gratification one tiny bit and the more I know about life I only see myself getting worse at this.
Once friends were planning a wedding and I gave them all my no way dates. I did not want to miss and could not bear the thought of missing the event. One very very important wedding was happening really close to the birth of my second. I asked my doctor to shake things up a little to make her come a little early. She was also due on my birthday- someone definitely had to intervene. Hey, she was 8 lbs 12 oz – see it as common sense.
When two or more incredible things happen on the same night- I panic- manners say go to the first, be present, don’t leave if it gets boring. This is hard. I want to go to both. So I do what any really immature person would do- I ask the second invitation to kindly switch their event so that I can come.
I watch other adults say so matter of factly ” Sorry, I can’t make it” and I don’t understand how they do it. I can’t bear the thought of missing something I want to do.
It extends further. If favourite people are around me and all taking all at once- I ask for one conversation. I can’t bear missing any wisdom or funny stories.
Hello? Am I alone on this planet of FOMO?
This past week there was a wonderful event in the city and I desperately did not want to miss it. There was also a blogging boondoggle in Collingwood with all of my blogging peeps over at Urbanmoms. Damn. They had so much fun without me. There was alcohol infused adult time, ropes courses, mountain biking, spa, dinners and even some learning.
And I was over here with the midgets at a ‘dry’ event we call art camp.
True I love art camp. But why couldn’t everyone move their dates to accommodate me?
Help me. I have serious FOMO.
Give me both marshmellows now, I’ll even sneak a third with some fancy footwork. After all by the time the researcher comes back I could be dead or worse the marshmellows could be stale.