There are a few things that I’ve come to realize I’ll never do. Like watch Game of Thrones, be the type of person that is okay with going to parties where the only person I know is the host, and not texting my mom to approve of all of my prospective clothing purchases.
I am, however, capable of fostering unnecessary attachments to the all of the tabs that I open on my Internet browser of choice. What if an article unpacking the pitfalls and/or genius of our generation inspires me to make a small decision that will alter the course of my future? Or what if that pair of shoes I wanted to get as an investment piece, but never actually intended to buy, go on sale and I never knew about it? THE HORROR.
There usually aren’t enough hours in the day for me to read all of the articles I’ve opened or money in my bank account to order all of the items in my countless shopping carts, but I’m trying to live up to, and beyond, my own expectations here. Or, more reasonably, am in a constant state of trying to prevent future FOMO. This might not be healthy.
But now, a list of all of the tabs that are stuck in a vicious cycle of disappearing when I turn off my computer for the night and reappearing the next morning:
A think piece from The Atlantic that unpacks the significance of X or Y cultural phenomenon but is long enough for me to keep putting off reading it until I "have more time to really digest it."
A series of Reductress and ClickHole articles that I will, at some point, send to a group text when the topic of conversation is juuust right.
The schedule of my local yoga, barre, spin, and pilates studios. Every instructor says that the hardest part is getting to class and I... have absolutely no reason to argue with that.
My Outdoor Voices shopping cart because having work out clothes goes hand in hand with actually working out. One can't happen without the other but I beg the question, what comes first?
The website of an obscure beauty brand that some celebrity mentioned in some Into the Gloss article and swears by but has a $30 shipping fee.
The Google Doc of contact information and template emails I've written out to send to people to set up networking coffee dates.
The enrollment homepage of that coding and web design class I've been meaning to take, and will continue to be meaning to take, for the next year.
The spreadsheet of grad school programs I spent an afternoon making while nursing a $7 cup of artisan coffee.
A New York Times and/or Washington Post article breaking down the newest health care plan being served up by the GOP.
The page of all of the Medium articles and Now This videos I’ve bookmarked on my Facebook. Fear not, what one lacks in nuance the other makes up for in its nicheness.
A Vimeo page of a random short film that was shared by a friend but made by a friend’s acquaintance.