Glitter In My Eyes

Most folks have heard of the term FOMO: The Fear Of Missing Out.  Many brain injury survivors I have met are haunted by this phobia.  For me, FOMO is more pronounced when I see colleagues celebrate baby showers or professional accomplishments on their Instagram pages.  I sometimes feel sorry for myself and think that could have been me...

On the other side of that very same coin, is an experience I call JOMO: The Joy Of Missing Out.

JOMO unexpectedly happened to me in a most unusual setting, while celebrating my best friend Neysa's 45th birthday.  Her parties usually include a costume component.  For example, the wedding party was invited to dress as pirates for her rehearsal dinner.  This time the evite I received was "Lance in Tight Pants" and her theme was "Neysa's Turning 45, Let's Jive!"  

I am not particularly fond of the 1970s era that made disco famous, but I quickly logged online to see if there was a flight I could book to witness her husband and my childhood friend wearing tight pants.  Alas, I booked an affordable last-minute flight that would land the morning of her party and return two days later.  My husband stayed behind as our AirBnB was fully booked and needed to be cleaned for our weekend guests.

As a person living with brain injury, one helpful travel strategy I rely on is my standard printed pack list.  I carefully selected carryon luggage items, mindful to not include any liquids over 3 ounces.  I expected there'd be enough tight pants worn, so I brought a neon pink and gold mini dress by Laundry and 5 pairs of shoes for my 3 days of travel.  I am glad I tossed an umbrella into my bag as a last-minute thought because it got plenty of use. 

I woke at 5 AM and boarded a two-hour Allegiant flight south to Orlando Florida to celebrate my best friend's birthday.  My college roommate Chris lives near the Sanford International Airport and picked me up in his white convertible Z06 Corvette.  When we reached Neysa's home, all the guys lifted its hood and gathered around to admire its supercharged 650 horsepower V8 engine.  I did not know what any of that meant but the guys sure enjoyed it.

One of the biggest challenges of brain injury I have learned to live with is neurofatigue, which is mental fatigue that decreases my concentration, focus and memory.  It is a debilitating exhaustion that can put me in danger if I am not careful.  I nap daily, so when I reached Orlando, I thought I could nap off the exhaustion that was already mounting from the early morning travel.  I was careful to not drink caffeine until an hour before folks arrived.  

Guests started arriving for the houseparty at 8 PM, and a massive pile of Amazon bags filled with an assortment of tight pants and metallic shirts awaited many of them.  This included the Quisenberry family, and I am grateful their talented daughter added me to her "Glam Squad" list of makeovers.  Jada gave me a Farrah Fawcett inspired blowout and generously added glitter and rhinestones to several pairs of eyes, including my own.  We had so much fun, four ladies piled in front of a large mirror in Neysa's master bathroom.  There was a disastrous moment involving black liquid eyeliner, but Neysa quickly and calmly resolved the situation. 

A party light was turned on that cast multicolored light showers across the living room walls.  Mini disco balls dangled from several light switches and a giant disco ball hung from a large Halloween skeleton that decorated their front yard.  The volume grew as guests continued to arrive, so I occasionally stepped aside into the empty dining room to decompress from the overwhelming multiple conversations and laughter that poured out of the kitchen.  Everyone around me seemed to enjoy the wide array of spirits and bottles of wine, while I poured myself lime Spindrift sparkling water in a glass of ice with a disco ball straw to appear like I was drinking with everyone else.

There was a reserved table waiting for her party in the Disco Room of The Robinson Cafe, a 19th-century historical building commissioned for Norman Robinson in 1889.  As the clock struck 10:30 PM, Lance began to coordinate UBERs to downtown Orlando and encouraged the crowd to gather just outside their front door.  What is especially ironic about this specific party destination is that I resided in Orlando as a college student, and I cannot recall ever leaving for a night of dance clubs before 10 PM.

That was more than 20 years ago, and these days, I often climb into bed closer to 9 PM.

Then JOMO happened.  Quickly and quite naturally.  I called my husband and texted him a picture to show him my fabulous eye makeup.  That is when I noticed the eyes in that photo and just how tired they revealed I already was.  But the dress!  The hair!  And my makeup all looked so good!  It did not take long to weigh the heavy decision in both hands: should I go or should I stay?  

"Let's go," Lance gestured to the group as if he were herding cattle. 

"I'm not going," I heard leave my lips.  I was just as surprised as he was.  

We were both standing in the hallway alone at this point.  He paused, then responded, "Okay, you good?"

"I am good.  I am good and tired."

There was a deep sense of understanding and approval in his eyes.  There was no pressure, no guilt, no hard feelings.  Nothing but JOMO. 

"Alright, the doors will lock on their own.  Help yourself to anything you'd like," were the last words I heard from over his shoulder.  When the door closed behind him, I was enveloped in the most wonderful sound.  One of my favorite sounds on the planet really.  Silence.  

I stood in the hall allowing myself to be cradled by silence for a few moments longer, before returning to the kitchen where it looked like folks had partied hard.  With an enormous smile on my face, I went upstairs, changed into my PJs, carefully washed the glitter and rhinestones from my eyes and rolled up my sleeves.

Next, I made the master bed that was still covered by tangled sheets from Lance's disco nap.  I let their family dog out in the backyard to do her thing.  I tossed the cups and paper plates into the trash, collected the disco straws and wine tumblers near the sink, then moved the crackers and pita chips into Ziplock bags.  I wrapped a few appetizers and spreads, left some on the countertops.  I discovered a crazy delicious raspberry scone covered in powdered sugar.  Ate two.  Poured myself my first glass of red wine from a bottle I assumed was nice because I watched Lance carefully tuck it behind several other bottles of wine on the bar.

I was living the dream.

I kicked up my feet in Lance's recliner, where their sweet Cavapoo Ruth Bader Ginsburg jumped onto my lap.  Lance sent a text to check on me, and I responded that I was so good, watching a tied football game between Alabama and LSU.  Ruthie and I relaxed like this until I finished my glass of wine, then we both headed upstairs.  I left her in their bedroom and then climbed into their son's bed.  Thanks Treyson for giving up your room!  I must have fallen asleep quickly and barely roused when the storm of friends returned from the club a few hours later.

When I awoke the next morning 8 hours later, I discovered an after party reclaimed the kitchen.  Food, plates, and cups were left abandoned again on the countertops.  I slipped into my sneakers and out the front door for a two-mile walk/run through the Delaney Park area of Downtown Orlando.  Good thing I grabbed that umbrella!  It was a lovely morning where the rain left a golden dew on the cobblestone streets and sparkled in the towering oak tree limbs that stretched across the streets and sky.

The rain lifted about the time I made it back to the house.  I had forgotten the door's auto-lock feature, so I walked to the back patio and meditated on the porch.  A light drizzle was pitter-pattering on the surface of their pool.  A while later, Neysa opened the back door to let Ruthie out and I let myself in.  I looked forward to seeing everyone’s photos and videos that captured the disco party shenanigans that I joyfully missed out on the night before.