I have this issue. It’s pretty constant. I have this fear of missing out on everything… and I mean everything. When I look at the flowers that grow on the sidewalk, I’m upset because —stick with me here— I am missing out on their perspective. I don’t know what it’s like to be a flower or a bird or the person next to me. It’s a problem I hold and a persistent one at that.

            I’m sitting in this coffee shop, the person next to me is, well, talking to their ex on the phone. They’re really hashing it out. And I’m over here wishing I was either one of them because, yes, they may no longer be together and they may be fighting, but they had the privilege of loving each other. I’m not and have never been in a romantic relationship where I had loved someone so much to call them after a break and beg for the relationship back like the person on the phone is. And I also wish to be on the receiving end of that call because, damn, they have a lot of confidence to sit in a coffee shop and fight with their ex over the phone. 

            “Seth… are you eavesdropping on their conversation?” My friend Natalie whispered in my ear.

            “What? No… I don’t— know how to eavesdrop.” I whispered back. 

            “Yo, that’s not— everyone with working ears can eavesdrop, and your’s are working just fine,” she said.

            “I’m not, I was just kind of in my head, k?” I clapped back. 

            “Ohhh, you’re doing that thing again,” she stated. 

            “Doing what?” I laughed.

“Yearning for a new life or feeling fantastical about others lives?”

            “Nah, I don’t do that…” I looked at her sternly.

“Babe, you’ve got major FOMO.” She giggled.“You cannot be serious,” I laughed once more.

“Nah, I’m calling it. I’m officially diagnosing you,” she chuckled. 

       “Nat, you can’t diagnose me, that’s like illegal or something,” I said with some sort of confidence. 

       “Ha, illegal, nah just morally iffy,” she said laying her head on my shoulder. 

Fuck, maybe she’s right.