Clarissa Tan
Clarissa is a solo traveler who has been to 47 countries on the backpacker’s budget, or $30/day. She spent this summer researching art in Southeast Asia, supported by a Yale Fellowship.
After 10 hours on a night bus, a three-hour flight and a dreary walk through the rainforest, there I was — sitting on the purest white sand beach in all of Bali, sipping $1 coconut juice underneath a picturesque palm tree, watching birds fly across the sunset in a perfectly cloudless sky.
Ahhh, peace at last. Time to check my phone.
Immediately, my Instagram feed was flooded with videos of Chappell Roan singing “Pink Pony Club” in front of a record-breaking Lollapalooza crowd. How did all these Yalies meet up in Chicago, with their film cameras and picnic blankets?
The more I scrolled, the more I felt a sense of impending doom. After two months on the road and two more to go… there it was: FOMO.
In disbelief, I thought, how is this possible? Here I was, living the type of vacation you’d win on “Wheel of Fortune” in a country where it’s legal for me to have as many piña coladas as I want, only to feel left out of a music festival that happens every summer. I mean, come on, Bali is way more fun, right? RIGHT??
Let me backtrack. I am fully aware that I sound like a pretentious asshole right now. Someone else would probably kill to be in Bali; who am I to complain about missing Lolla?
The truth is, it’s not about Lolla at all.
As formative as it was to tromp around Southeast Asia with nearly zero responsibilities, I have to admit that I seriously questioned my decisions every now and then.
While I was away, I missed my mom’s birthday, my hometown best friend’s annual Fourth of July lake party and the collective awe that everyone experienced when they saw the Northern Lights at Yale.
Part of being that girl who’s constantly out of the country means that I physically cannot be there for people who are important to me. Sure, I’m a phone call away, but that’s not the same. Do I even deserve to feel guilty? Nobody forced me to get on that plane. If I really wanted to, I could have stayed.
No matter how many continents I am away from New Haven, I’m still a Yale student who’s just adjusting to no longer being a teenager. At this stage of young adulthood, it should be liberating to have so many choices — and yet, this weight feels suffocating. Picking Option A means forgoing Option B, but what about Option C? In an alternate reality, I could be that girl who’s taking the train in Manhattan to her shiny new job, the girl who saved up to buy tickets for Lolla, the girl who lights fireworks at the lake.
While four isn’t a big number, four months is a long time. When I left JFK in May, the naive idealist in me believed everything would be the exact same upon my return in September. But it’s impossible to have it all — the world keeps turning on the other side, and people with it.
Don’t get me wrong. Southeast Asia was wonderfully fulfilling, and I loved every bit of it. Would I do it all over again? Yes.
However, it’s unrealistic to expect my friends and family to follow me to the ends of the Earth, especially since I’m the one who left. So I guess it’s also unfair for me to feel FOMO when we’re both doing cool things from each others’ perspectives. But I still do. Because behind all the idyllic Instagram posts, I am a real person.
Ideally, I’d put everyone I love in a little snow globe, to be carried in my back pocket whenever I’m off galavanting somewhere crazy. But if there’s anything I’ve learned from being a part-time nomad, it’s that life is full of choices — and I chose the world.
There is nothing more “me” than wanting to do everything and be everywhere.