JOMO: The Joy of Missing Out

The clock on the laptop struck 5 and I felt the pressure from my clenched jaw lessen. The small pain that seems to live in my left temple during work hours, magically went away and I could feel my Arthur curled fist release in a sign of relief.

I quickly passed my coworkers, ignoring any attempt to make plans or talk about dumb shit.

All I wanted was a bottle of wine and a good romantic comedy on Netflix.

In my late teens and early 20s, my FOMO was out of control. I didn’t go out but I’d kicked myself envisioning my friends partying, drinking the night away, and making bad decisions we were supposed to be indulging in at our age.

Now in my mid-20s, I can’t be bothered to go out if I’m really not in the mood. Cheap liquor doesn’t go down as smoothly and I prefer to wear sweatpants over any tight ass bodycon dress any day. In following my own advice, I have tightened up my budget and my budget really doesn’t acknowledge tri-weekly happy hour or $50 dinners every weekend anymore.

I really admire the people who are willing and able to go out but that’s just not my life currently. I wish we could all come to an agreement to stop shaming one another.

If your bank account isn’t upset that you’re consistently abusing it every weekend then who am I to judge. Just don’t complain that I’m home every weekend, standing ass naked in front of my exhausted and overly opened fridge.

Please keep all comments about me and my friends making homebody decisions, especially when we do decide to show face at the function. I can’t count the number of times that people have just stared and pointed as if I owe them money.

I know, I’m outside. This wasn’t initially my plan but I’m here now and trying to make the best of it.

We are all trying to navigate through this dimly light and overhyped space of adulting. There may be days, weeks, and months in which happy hour regulars turn over their last shots glass in exchange for a Power marathon in an incensed filled room. This shift in the social universe may lead, I and my fellow aunties, to electric side to Beyoncé’s Before I Let Go in some overcrowded and poorly cooled establishment.

But until then, please don’t kill my vibe.

All photos by Tatyanna Chamere

Money Clueless

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Image by: Morgan Daniels

Picture this, it’s a warm Sunday afternoon. I and a few of my millienal friends are enjoying a bottomless instagrammable brunch. The drinks are flowing and the bacon is crisp. It’s like the apartment scene of The Great Gatsby.

Suddenly, the bill arrives. I look around the table to see my peers contemplating that dreaded question

“Should I move my some of savings to my checkings?”

I furiously refresh my LGE credit union app, while the deja vu of opening and closing my refrigerator door in hopes that food would magically appear dances in my head. In the end, brunch won and I drove home full and slightly defeated, arguing with myself about whether I really needed cheese on those eggs.

Growing up my father had one simple rule, a mantra rather; Cash is king. A simple and annoying reminder to spend less and save more. Anytime we would pick up a pair shoes or purse that was a “luxury” he would wipe away any shopping high with those three simple words that would make the simplest purchase seem like a shopping spree at Saks. He became so relentless that my mother and I would often hide our shopping until he fell into a deep Sunday nap. Then, quickly and quietly smuggle them into the house.

To be honest I wasn’t broke; I mean at least not as broke as I have been in college.

My humble bi-monthly freshman year allowance never seemed to come and go fast enough. Between late night food truck runs and constant Sassy’s dress shopping, I always managed to have approximately $.25 in my account every 13th and 28th of the month. I now appreciate my father for being so strict at the time. It made me creatively broke. I miss the days when my friends and I would take a collection of $20, cook an entire meal, get a huge bottle of cheap wine, and enjoy each other’s company and Netflix accounts.

These days, adulting makes it a lot harder to get the girls together so the experiences happen less and cost a little more.

Here are a few of the tips to making your money work for you.

4 Tips to Making it as a Broke Millennial

There’s rice at home.

I remember the cool thing in elementary school was buying lunch from the cafeteria. I never wanted to be “that girl” who pulled out rice and stew for lunch. However, I have no in shame in bringing in homemade jollof rice and chicken wings four times a week for lunch. The only person who can judge me is my bank account.

It’s just you and your vices tonight.

Bars are fun but tabs are not. In an effort to have a YOLO night, a simple drink with the squad can turn into a frantic call the bank for “unrecognized charges”. There is no shame in staying in and inviting your people to wine down or liquor up.

Cash is King.

No matter how much budgeting is done, life happens. It’s doesn’t take much for a tire to bust or a must see artist to drop tour dates to ruin even the most planned out budget. Keeping an extra $40-$100 stashed away from yourself and your account can come in handy for life’s inconsiderate moments. Apps like Digit help to make saving money digitally and virtually painless.

Be Honest.

As much as we would love to be at every function, sometimes you just don’t got it and there should be no shame in saying that. Try to keep an honest dialogue about spending with your people. Real friends will understand.

Thursday’s are for Yaa’s

A week is honestly too long. It’s seven whole days, which equals 168 hours or 10,800 minutes. It’s exhausting. I was quite used to finding myself so worn out by Friday that I would choose to spend my weekends locked away, trying to regain the energy that had been sucked out during the week. And then I would turn right back around and have to do it all again Monday. It made me miserable and even more annoyed when Sunday came around.

One day, while sitting with my dad, I mentioned being over the week before it even started. He asked me how I spent my special day, Thursday. I simply stated that I tried to power through them so I could really deal with the expectations of Friday. He laughed and asked me why was I always in a rush.

“You will always get to Friday Maame, but why put that much pressure on it?”

I knew that I was mentally and physically exhausted by the end of the week and that needed to change. So I came up with Thursday’s are for Yaa’s. Every Thursday is set aside as a personal day. Thursday’s are the days I do exactly what I want, no matter that obligations. It sounds extremely risky but it’s beautiful to have one day that I get to control to the best of my abilities. Depending on the way I feel, the activities may vary but in an ideal world, this is how my Thursday would look.

I wake up in my pure white sheets whatever time I see fit, usually before 10:30AM. I sit and contemplate whether I would like to be around people. If yes, I try set up an activity that I really enjoy, like enjoying a meal with good friends. That makes the experience that less stressful. I find myself a meal for breakfast that I haven’t enjoyed in a very long time and I eat in my beautiful bed before jumping into the shower or taking another nap. My Thursday can be used as a ‘Get it Right Get it Right’ day or to just veggie out in front of my TV or laptop and write about my feelings. But the day is mostly about me. I pour into myself so much of what is stripped out of me during the week. All the early wake up calls, long nights, and disappointments of the week don’t matter because Thursday’s are for me.

I tried to write this for Thursday but my day told me take a break and rebuild from brokenness that I had suffered during the week. Nothing hurts and everything is beautiful on my Thursday’s.