Scene: Beneath a colonnade, A and B are walking and talking slowly. The afternoon sun shines through the stone pillars, casting long and short shadows on the ground.
Characters:
A: An enthusiastic young philosopher, an advocate for JOMO (the Joy of Missing Out).
B: An elder scholar, known for his rigorous inquiry and logic.
B: A, your recent praise for the “Joy of Missing Out” was indeed eloquent and moving. You say that those who embrace this way of life, through a kind of internal persuasion, arrive at a state of clarity. I would very much like to hear your reasoning more clearly, so that together we might examine whether it is as sound as you claim.
A: Of course, B. I would be happy to elaborate. You see, for the person who chooses the “Joy of Missing Out,” his soul undergoes a turn. First, he pierces the illusory bubble constructed from the fragments of other people’s lives. He asks himself, “Are the ‘highlights’ displayed at social occasions not also curated illusions?” Once he sees through this, the anxiety of being left behind by the world largely dissipates.
B: That sounds like a lucid insight into illusion. Please, continue.
A: Next, he begins to calculate a more important account—what I call the “budget of the soul’s energy.” Every person’s time and mental energy are finite. He will think, “Why should I squander precious energy on insipid social obligations, only to become so exhausted that I have no strength left to do what truly nourishes me?” This is the art of using one’s energy on what is most essential.
B: An economics of the soul. It sounds quite prudent. And the third point?
A: Third is the redefinition of “value.” His sense of worth no longer stems from the external validation of “I was there,” but is retracted inward. He will ask himself: “Does this allow me to grow? Does it bring me true joy?” If the answer is no, then even if the whole world flocks to it, it has nothing to do with him. Finally, and most crucially, he learns to make peace with himself, acknowledging his need for rest and for “whitespace.” He believes the beauty of life lies precisely in this deliberately chosen tranquility. So you see, he is not missing out on the world; he is embracing a world of his own.
B: You have painted a very harmonious inner landscape, A. A self-sufficient, lucid, and free soul. However, as a scrupulous examiner, I must point out that this picture of yours may be a meticulously constructed “philosophical safe house.” It seems impregnable, yet it may well be built upon a series of fragile assumptions. Now, permit me to scrutinize your arguments one by one.
A: I am all ears, B.
B: First, what you call “piercing the bubble,” seems to me more like constructing a “cynical echo chamber.” You see only the parties that are proven to be boring, while selectively ignoring the countless real connections and opportunities. Is every gathering of friends a disingenuous performance? You calculate the cost of attending, but you have failed to calculate the hidden cost of “missing out.” At that event you skipped, there might have been a future dear friend or partner. Is this “embracing of oneself” not, in fact, a form of self-imprisonment?
A: You believe it is a kind of pessimistic self-hypnosis?
B: Precisely. Second, your theory of the “energy budget,” while sounding rational, may be nothing more than a magnificent cloak for the “atrophy of social skills” and the “avoidance of growth.” You treat socializing as a pure “expenditure,” but is not high-quality interaction an “investment”? It can spark new thoughts, provide solace, and “recharge” the soul. Human growth happens precisely in the challenges that force us out of our comfort zone. Is your so-called “energy budget” not just a perfect excuse to evade the pains of growth?
A: I see. You believe I am confusing “expenditure” with “investment.”
B: Let us then examine your core concept of “inner value.” If the standard for judging value is retracted entirely inward, does this not risk sliding into a dangerous “self-centeredness”? Humans are social beings. Our sense of worth needs to be affirmed and calibrated through interaction with others. When “Does this nourish me?” becomes the sole criterion for action, where does that leave the responsibilities, duties, and commitments that, while not always “joyful,” are what sustain family, friendship, and society? Is this not a form of refined egoism? And finally, your so-called “making peace with oneself,” beautiful as it sounds, might it not be just a philosophical glorification of social failure? A person unable to fit in with a group proclaims that they “pursue a noble solitude.” Is this a genuine choice, or is it a consolation for helplessness?
A: B, your critique is indeed sharp. You have depicted the JOMO I celebrate as a social hermit who retreats out of fear and incompetence. However, you are attacking a “straw man” you have misconstrued. The JOMO I wish to articulate is not a passive “escape,” but an active “construction.” He is not a hermit, but an “architect of life.”
B: Oh? An “architect of life”? That is a novel metaphor. Explain to me how this architect works.
A: He does not negate everything, but rather “filters” information, eliminating the noise so that he may delve deep into the truly rich veins of ore. He is not anxious about “possibilities,” but invests in “certainty”—the value of a night in which he can finish a piece of writing or have a deep conversation with family far outweighs a party full of unknowns. What you call the “atrophy of social muscles,” he sees as ceasing the pointless “chronic strain” in order to save strength for the real competition. To explore inward, to face one’s own solitude and talents, is a more arduous form of cultivation than outward socializing.
B: Are you saying that inner cultivation is the greater challenge?
A: Precisely. And regarding responsibility, the architect does not evade it, but rather seeks to better fulfill his core responsibilities. Through his filtering, he ensures that his most precious time and energy are precisely invested in the most important people and matters. This is not egoism, but a higher form of responsibility. He is not making excuses for failure; he is redefining the rules of “success.” What he pursues is the freedom to define the meaning of his own life.
B: An “architect of life”—an alluring image. He plans meticulously, pursuing efficiency and meaning. However, A, let us examine this architect’s blueprint. I fear he is not building a vibrant dwelling, but a magnificent, soundproof, yet slowly depreciating “beautiful, empty room.”
A: What do you mean by that?
B: This architect of yours presumes he can judge what is “noise” and what is an “ore vein.” Is that not a dangerous arrogance? Life’s most transformative moments often stem from serendipity. He systematically destroys all possibility for serendipity to occur. The “certainty” he invests in is a safe but closed loop, which misses all opportunities for exponential growth. His “social muscles,” by avoiding all seemingly boring “exercise,” are atrophying. And his “inward exploration,” without the test of external reality, will eventually become a “self-pitying echo chamber.”
A: But he does this to better fulfill his responsibilities…
B: Responsibility, A, is the most alarming part of your entire theory! The essence of responsibility is that it often does not “nourish” us in the short term. Helping a grieving friend, caring for an elderly parent—these things are the glue of society. They cannot be filtered by the question “Does this nourish me?” Your architect is not building a richer life, but a fortress to ward off risk. And the problem with fortresses is that while they are effective at keeping out threats, they are equally effective at shutting out life itself.
A: B, you once again, with thunderous force, depict my architect as the builder of a fortress. You celebrate “chaos” and “serendipity,” but this may be a kind of philosophical naiveté. What I defend is a life of considered creation, whose richness comes from depth, not breadth. What my architect builds is not a fortress to withstand the world, but a “sanctuary” for the soul.
B: A sanctuary? Describe this sanctuary for me.
A: People enter a sanctuary to hear their own true voice amid the clamor and to connect with something higher. He does not destroy “serendipity,” but rather hones his “signal receiver,” so that when a crucial signal appears, he can respond with the highest sensitivity. He does not let his muscles atrophy, but engages in a strategic “recovery period” to prevent injury, so that he can perform at his peak in critical moments. Regarding responsibility, he would never abandon his core duties to friends and family, because they “resonate” with his core values. He is practicing “precision irrigation,” not the “flood irrigation” of self-depletion. What he brings back to the world from the sanctuary is not his constant presence, but the unique light that has been cultivated through contemplation.
B: A “sanctuary”… A, that is truly the most alluring metaphor in your entire theoretical system, but I’m afraid it is also the most fatal. What you describe is not a sanctuary, but a temple—a temple built for the new god of “the Self.” Your entire theory ultimately leads not to a profound connection with the world, but to a sophisticated, philosophically glorified self-worship.
A: Self-worship? B, that is a grave accusation.
B: Let us face it. Your desire to control life through “intention” exposes an extreme fear of the uncontrollable. Your so-called “signal receiver” is nothing but a radio that can only receive “preset stations”; it is deaf to the truly transformative “static.” Your “strategic recovery” instrumentalizes life itself; the mundane present becomes mere preparation for some future “game day,” thereby missing out on life itself. Most importantly, your theory of responsibility based on “resonance” cannot explain the greatest of human moral acts—“sacrifice.” True love and responsibility, in their greatness, lie precisely in their ability to transcend “resonance” to embrace that which is dissonant, draining, and yet most in need of us.
B: (His tone becomes more serious and gentle) So, A, the “higher being” you worship in your sanctuary is but a beautified and purified reflection of yourself. You hear not a true voice, but an echo. You bring back to the public square not light, but the reflection from a mirror. Your philosophy, in the end, is not the antidote for our times, but the perfect symptom of our era’s individualistic malady. It is a velvet-paved road to absolute solitude. It is a magnificent requiem for the Self. And what we truly need is a song sung not alone, but one that we sing together with others in the clamor and dust of the public square—imperfect, but real.
(A is silent for a long time. The shadows from the colonnade have grown long. He stops walking and turns to B. The initial passion in his eyes is gone, replaced by the clarity of one who has been persuaded.)
This article was written with the help of AI tools.
soga