Fear of Missing Out

Lets talk about FOMO for a moment.  It's a real thing, a thing that happens when there is a party to go to and you are tired, but you go anyway.  My old roommate Kyle Hunter says that FOMO stands for "Fear of Missing Out."  Used in a sentence it would sound like this- "I wanted to read Neil Young's biography and drink hot chocolate with my dog, but I had a wicked case of FOMO so I went out to the bar instead."

We are talking about this fear of missing out because the entire city of Austin has had a wretched case of FOMO for the past ten days, as South by Southwest again arrived, raging and sweeping everything in its path, providing enough magic and despair to last us through till next year.

Let me try to paint a quick picture- the festival is boundless- there are literally people all over the damn place downtown, in the South Congress area of town, and on the Eastside of the city. All bars have loud live music, for days and nights on end.  It is absolutely overwhelming and frenetic.  There are a few hundred pedicab drivers out, my boyfriend included, sweating and working 12 hours days.  The daytime can be fun- traffic is a snarl but if you are on  bike or on foot, you can navigate your way to free shows, a beer or two,  maybe a sausage snack.  At a certain point in the late evening, things take a turn for the worst, and suddenly everyone is DRUNK.  Not just normal drunk, but DRUNK.  This is when the city starts looking like an episode of the Walking Dead, with slack jawed bleary eyed young people lurching down the streets.  It's a little funny and a little more crazy.  There's puke on the buses and puke on the sidewalks and lots of garbage.  And some cops, and the homeless folks, and a couple cowboys on horses.

I worked downtown last year, and to be working  a service industry job that is smack in the middle of the mania is to be sentenced to a certain hell.  It was truly relentless, just the sheer amount of people who walked through the door.  At the end of it, our boss very graciously cooked us a splendid seafood and crawfish dinner, with free beer, and the Shins happened to show up and eat with us.  That was a little magical, but not enough to make up for stocking the cooler until 3 am for several nights that week.  There is no way around it if you work downtown- you just gird your loins and get through it. 

I guess what SXSW exemplifies is the perfect marriage of expectation and disappointment. In such a hip city, there is pressure to feel like you SHOULD have an awesome, out of this world experience during South by Southwest.  You want to be able to be like, "dude, I totally ran into Mila Kunis at a gay bar and took body shots with her," or, "I just ate BBQ with Justin Timberlake," or, "I got into this exclusive party on a boat, and the Flaming Lips were there, and they gave me free cucumber vodka and a free JanSport bacpack!" Apparently Steven did see Shaquille O'Neill get out of a range rover with his girlfriend and bodyguards- he tipped his head at Steven and said, "stay cool."

Indeed.

Anytime you have an instance where expectation is so high, where you know cool shit is happening but not necessarily how to access it, disappointment follows.  It is more common to wait in a long, hot line for a thirty minute show by one of your favorite acts, only to have the sound go out or have it be in a noisy bar.  It was still worth it though, at least you are pretty sure it was.

The longer I live here, I think the easier it will be to navigate this behemoth week and find the spots that play that music that feels like home.  I went to a free show with Texas country bands, and had a Shiner beer and hung around with all the old rock and roll fans, my parents age.  I checked out a bar where two of my favorite singer songwriters played (also, congrats Carry Elkin and Danny Schmidt on getting engaged- my Mom says Mazeltov!) and when I got there it was me, some middle-aged lesbians, and some guys who looked my grandpa.  These are my people.

Last night was the final evening of SXSW- I met my roommate on the Eastside to celebrate her birthday for a quick drink.  It was wild, there were people roaming the streets and crammed into every bar available, and as I walked back to my bike I happened upon a truly excellent bluegrass show.  This was a little magical- I tapped my feet on the sidewalk in my new thrift store skirt, the air still warm late into the night, and I really enjoyed myself.  Then, blessedly, I hopped back on my bike and rode into the darkness, thankful for the quiet roads in my neighborhood.

I was trying to think of an apt metaphor for the festival, and the best I can come up with is that it is like a giant pimple.  You are pretty sure you should leave it alone, but it's intriguing.  You touch it a couple times, and it just gets bigger.  You try to leave it alone, but something compels you to mess with it, until finally it pops. It's Sunday, SXSW is over, and no we can officially start the healing process, and hose down the streets.

I think next year I might offer a class on emotionally coping with SXSW FOMO.  We will probably spend a few days biking around to select events, trying not to get our hopes up too high, and spend at least one night at home with the dog, reading Neil Young's biography and drinking hot chocolate.