I am increasingly convinced that my dog has a severe case of FOMO.

Not mild. Not occasional. I’m talking full-blown, body-check-you-on-the-stairs, “no one leaves without me” levels of fear of missing out.

If there is movement toward a door, he is there. If a shoe is being put on, he is emotionally involved.
If I so much as think about going somewhere, he is already positioned to ensure I do not go alone.

It’s less “loyal companion” and more “tiny, furry nightclub bouncer who believes every event requires his presence.”

Meanwhile, I have entered a different phase of life.

JOMO.

The Joy of Missing Out.

This is the moment when you cancel plans and instead of guilt, you feel relief. Not subtle relief. Not polite relief. I’m talking about a deep, cellular exhale. The kind where your entire nervous system says, “thank you for making the correct decision.”

Because sometimes the best plan is no plan.

Stay home. Put on a true crime documentary. Order Chinese food like it’s a coping strategy (because it is). Fully lean into not participating.

And here’s the disconnect.

While I am embracing JOMO (thriving, even) my dog is convinced something extraordinary is happening without him. He cannot conceptualize that the event we are “missing” is, in fact, me on the couch in sweatpants questioning my life choices while eating dumplings.

He insists on being included.

So now he’s draped across my lap, staring at the door like we are both victims of exclusion.

Sir.

This is not FOMO.

This is intentional. This is curated. This is peace. But I respect his commitment to the bit.

Because if there were a way to attend everything, be everywhere, and never miss a single moment, he would.

And if there were a way to cancel everything, go nowhere, and feel absolutely no regret.

I already have.