We all live within limits.
We just choose how.
“You can’t have everything. Where would you put it?” ~ Steven Wright
I recently realized I’d completely missed one of the best-reviewed shows on Netflix. It had been sitting there for years, buried somewhere between the thousands of other series and films that I never got around to watching. With that much content, how could I not miss something?
And Netflix is just the beginning. The list of things we could choose from keeps growing—faster than our ability to make sense of it. Every year brings hundreds of thousands of new books, countless podcast episodes, thousands of news outlets, and endless mobile apps—each promising immersion, excitement, and meaning.
But this overload isn’t limited to entertainment or information. It bleeds into how we live and what we expect from life. We’re not just choosing what to watch or read—we’re trying to choose who to become. And with that comes the pressure to get it right. As if with enough research, comparison, and “life hacks,” we could finally make the optimal choices.
We live in an age where every decision carries the weight of all the ones we didn’t make. We swipe, scroll, and skim through a world of endless possibilities, haunted by the idea that no matter what we choose, something better is out there. This isn’t just choice anxiety—it’s existential. And it’s not just us.
We imagine that celebrities and billionaires live some parallel life of freedom and fullness. But they’re subject to the same laws of reality. They have one body, one nervous system, one partner to share things with—if they’re lucky. A few close friends. They can only watch one movie, attend one dinner, live one moment at a time. No one escapes the cost of choice—not even those who can afford everything.
The old name for this was FOMO—the fear of missing out. It shows up in small moments: hovering over a restaurant menu, worried you’ll regret your order. It shows up in big ones too: doubting your relationships, your career, your city. Because somewhere, someone is living a life that looks better. FOMO feeds the idea that the good life is always somewhere else.
But then I heard of something called YAMO: You’re Always Missing Out.
It sounds cynical, but it’s actually freeing. Because it’s true. At every moment, you are missing out on nearly everything. You are not having most of the world’s conversations. You are not watching most sunsets. You are not falling in love with most people. You are, by design, always experiencing one sliver of reality at a time. This isn’t failure—this is what it means to be human. And once you accept that—fully, emotionally—it changes everything.
YAMO doesn’t mean giving up or opting out. It means giving in to the reality of limitation. It means no longer treating choice like a test you must pass. It means rejecting the illusion that there is a perfect combination of options that will finally make you feel complete.
This isn’t resignation. It’s reverence. Because every decision is a kind of death—a letting go of all that might have been. But it’s also a birth, a chance to make one life, one relationship, one moment count. The artist who chooses oils over watercolors isn’t failing to be a watercolorist—they’re becoming a painter. The friend who cancels a party to rest isn’t missing life—they’re living the part that needs quiet. The parent who chooses bedtime stories over late-night work isn’t sacrificing their career—they’re honoring love over ambition.
Peace doesn’t come from making the perfect choice. It comes from living the one you made with your whole heart. To live without regret doesn’t mean ignoring consequences or abandoning discernment. It means no longer holding your life hostage to imagined alternatives. It means asking not “Did I pick the best possible option?” but “Did I choose with care? With clarity? With courage?”
That shift is everything. It returns you to the present. To your own values. To the quiet confidence that being somewhere fully is better than being everywhere faintly. In a world that monetizes our restlessness, choosing contentment is an act of defiance. Refusing to be seduced by the next best thing is its own form of sovereignty. The deepest freedom isn’t the freedom to have it all—it’s the freedom to love what you’ve chosen.
This is the quiet, radical gift of YAMO. Not just understanding that you’re always missing out—but no longer needing that to be a problem. Because everyone is. We all are. The newly famous, the wildly wealthy, the ones you imagine got it all right—they’re missing out too. They’ve also chosen one path and not another.
We’re all living inside the same constraints: one mind, one moment, one life. We’re not falling behind. We’re just human. And when you really see that—when you stop imagining that someone, somewhere has figured out how to be everything, everywhere, all at once—something softens. The pressure lifts. The comparison game ends. You let go. You land. You begin, at last, to live the beautiful life you’re in.
Stay passionate!
Another great piece Tom. This builds on a discussion we had recently in one of my networking groups about making choices / regretting major decisions, or sometimes not making any decision.. I often reflect back on decisions made, or not made, earlier in life related to career, where to live, stay or leave a job, partners... on and on.
And I sometimes used to feel when looking back in my life, that I made the wrong decision, or didn't make a decision when I should have. And regret that.
But now I recognize to not beat myself up. I made the decision at that time based upon the data, facts and gut-feel I had at that moment. Judging my decision in retrospect after the event is a waste of energy. Because now I have more experience, more data, more facts... a completely different situation.
This is great Tom and, as is often the case, timely. Hope you are well and Happy 4th.