family – Budget Bliss: Bucket List

Dear reader, I think I have made it quite clear over the years that I am, for a myriad of reasons, simply not a sports person. I don’t typically watch or participate in many sports, nor do I have any particular inclination to change that. I have nothing against them, of course. Why should I advocate for depriving someone else of an activity that brings them joy?

Yet over the past few weeks I found myself, quite unexpectedly, drawn into the orbit of soccer—or football, as nearly everyone outside the United States insists on calling it. (I’m beginning to suspect America simply enjoys being contrarian.)

The World Cup had arrived, and suddenly it seemed to be everywhere. Friends hosted watch parties. Restaurants filled with cheering fans. Social media overflowed with celebrations, dramatic finishes, and clips of supporters singing in unison. Perhaps it was because the tournament was being played on home soil, but even people I had never known to care much about soccer suddenly had passionate opinions about offsides, penalty kicks, and championship predictions.

Watching all of this unfold, I experienced something surprisingly familiar.

The fear of missing out.

It wasn’t that I had suddenly developed a deep appreciation for the sport. I hadn’t. It was the feeling that everyone else was participating in a shared cultural moment while I stood quietly on the outside looking in.

Perhaps I should learn the rules.

Maybe I ought to watch a few matches.

Should I start reading about the teams so I can contribute to the conversation?

If you’ve ever felt that little tug, you know exactly what I’m talking about. FOMO has very little to do with the activity itself. More often, it stems from our deeply human desire to belong. We see everyone around us enjoying something together, and we begin to wonder whether we should be enjoying it too.

But somewhere along the way, I realized something.

I didn’t actually want to watch soccer.

What I wanted was the feeling of being included.

Those are not the same thing.

There is something wonderfully liberating about recognizing the difference.

Photo by Ali Karimiboroujeni on Pexels.com

In recent years people have begun talking about JOMO—the Joy of Missing Out. Rather than anxiously trying to participate in every trend, every event, every conversation, JOMO invites us to make peace with the opportunities we choose not to pursue.

Not everything has to become our hobby.

Not every cultural phenomenon needs our attention.

Not every invitation must be accepted.

Every “yes” we give something is also a “no” to something else. Our time and attention are finite, and spending them intentionally is one of the greatest gifts we can give ourselves.

For me, that meant happily scrolling past match highlights while smiling at the unmistakable enthusiasm of Dutch fans dancing in brilliant seas of orange. Their joy was contagious, even if their pastime wasn’t. I could appreciate their excitement without feeling compelled to make it my own.

Perhaps that is the real lesson.

We do not need to borrow someone else’s passions in order to live a meaningful life. We simply need to cultivate our own.

So the next time the entire world seems to be rushing toward the newest trend, the latest series, the biggest sporting event, or whatever everyone insists you simply must experience, remember this:

It is perfectly acceptable to let other people have their joy while you quietly pursue your own.

Sometimes the greatest peace comes not from doing more, but from realizing there was never any need to join the crowd in the first place.

Photo by Tobias Bju00f8rkli on Pexels.com

The other weekend, on a rainy afternoon, my sister and I ventured into a massive indoor antique store housed in an old warehouse. Two stories of treasures stacked on top of each other unfolded into a sprawling maze of booths, each one as varied as the colors of the rainbow.

Old uranium glassware sat beside vintage clothing. A now-derelict gas pump stood comfortably next to forgotten household tools. It was a hodge-podge of decades and even centuries, all jumbled together in a kind of quiet, chaotic harmony. A cacophony of objects, each with its own story, none of them particularly concerned with being organized by time period.

We happily set off on a kind of treasure hunt, letting whatever caught our eye guide us. There is something uniquely joyful about wandering without purpose except curiosity, being delighted by strange finds and pausing often to compare notes.

Being both history nerds, we took turns educating one another, filling in the gaps of each other’s knowledge as we went. “Oh, that’s a…” inevitably became the start of several long conversations that may or may not have been entirely accurate but were delivered with great confidence nonetheless.

What makes antique stores so uniquely fun is that unlike museums, where objects are carefully preserved behind glass with a strict “do not touch” policy, here you are invited to engage directly. You can pick things up. Turn them over in your hands. Imagine not just where they came from, but what it would feel like to let them live in your space now. History becomes something you can hold, not just observe.

My sister and I have many fond memories of antiquing with our mother when we were younger, learning about objects we didn’t yet have the language to name, and giggling over cultural relics that felt ancient at the time but are now beginning to resemble our own childhood.

There is always a slightly unsettling moment, of course, when you realize something from your own past has made its way into an antique store. Yes, I am approaching forty, but are we really prepared to call the Tamagotchi “historical artefact” rather than simply “vintage nostalgia with battery anxiety”? Time, it turns out, is a bit unkind that way.

But that is part of the charm. Antique stores collapse time in on itself. What was once ordinary becomes curious again. What was once discarded becomes interesting. And what was once personal history becomes someone else’s discovery.

It turns out you don’t always need a destination to have an adventure. Sometimes you just need a rainy afternoon, a large warehouse full of forgotten things, and someone beside you willing to say, “Wait, come look at this.”

My sister, in her own successful treasure hunt, found a brass penguin, her husband’s favorite animal, which will now take up residence in her living room as a small but very specific piece of joy.

I, on the other hand, left empty-handed in the most literal sense. Well… almost.

There was an adorable purse shaped like a magazine that I briefly considered adopting. Unfortunately, it failed the most important test of all: it would not fit my phone. And if a purse cannot carry the one object I am legally required to bring everywhere, then it is more sculpture than accessory.

Honestly, my phone has probably saved me more money on impulsive purse purchases than any amount of self-control ever could. Perhaps it has already paid for itself in avoided financial mistakes alone.

And yet, even without a purchase, I did not leave empty. Because sometimes the point is not what you bring home. It is what you notice along the way.

How can you experience the thrill of the hunt?

If you ever find yourself with a rainy afternoon and a bit of curiosity, I would encourage you to go on your own treasure hunt. You never quite know what you will find when you let yourself wander without expectation. What’s wonderful is that antique stores litter the US so you’re almost certain to live nearby one. Of course, you will be hard pressed to beat Adamstown, the Antique Capital of the United States (located conveniently in my backyard), but don’t let that discourage your treasure hunt!

If you do it right, you might even come home with something unexpected. Maybe a story. Maybe an object. Maybe both. Or, if you are my sister, a brass penguin that now lives quite happily on a living room shelf, quietly reflecting on the meaning of life but never sharing.

Either way, the hunt is the point.

Miles from home: 45 miles

Cost: Free (well gas is getting expensive)

Completed: First in childhood

Want to discover more adventures? Check out my whole Bucket List and Reverse Bucket List

Tag: family

Letting the World Spin Without You: JOMO

The Day My Phone Saved Me From Buying Another Purse