…get FOMO from a poetry night you didn’t even like.
...GET FOMO FROM A POETRY NIGHT YOU DIDN’T EVEN LIKE.
Follow for more real talk about the [Ivy] experience, past and present.
Remember the whirlwind? The sheer volume of opportunities, the relentless hum of activity, the unspoken expectation that you weren't just attending classes, but *living* the full, vibrant, multi-hyphenate existence. Our calendars weren't just packed; they were masterpieces of strategic scheduling, each slot a testament to our ambition and, let's be honest, our deeply ingrained fear of missing out.
It wasn’t just about the A’s, the internships, or the coveted club positions. It was about the *event culture*. The impromptu guest lecture, the obscure student film festival, the late-night philosophical debate. And then, the ultimate paradox: that gnawing sense of regret, that legitimate pang of FOMO, for a poetry night you actually had zero interest in attending. You didn’t like poetry. You had a paper due. But knowing others were there, experiencing *something*, left a strange void.
That feeling, that unique blend of overcommitment and the pervasive anxiety of an incomplete narrative – it defined a significant part of our time. We were all striving, learning, connecting, and simultaneously battling the self-imposed pressure to be everywhere, do everything, and enjoy every second of it, even the parts we didn’t. It’s a shared memory, isn’t? A testament to the unique intensity of our journey. Did it make us who we are? You tell me.
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