For years, Dark MOFO felt like something other people did.

This year, I thought maybe it could be something I do too.

In contrast to a lot of Tasmanians, it would be rare for me to jump in line for entry to the newest happening. When Dark MOFO first started, I wouldn’t have even given buying a ticket a passing thought.

In the early years, there were stories about how crowded it could get — especially at events like the Winter Feast. That made it an automatic no-go for me.

In more recent years, the venue has moved, more seating has been made available, and people have spoken about the environment being calmer, more accessible.

So I thought: maybe this would be the year. The year I would go from FOMO to MOFO.

It felt good that this was something that now felt available to me — not because I had to do it, but because I could.

I didn’t want to go just to feel what everyone else felt. It wasn’t about ticking a box. I wanted to see it for myself.

It’s a big event for the community in Tasmania and for those who travel here just to attend.

With Dark MOFO running over two weeks, I figured my chances of getting there were good. I even kept an eye on ticket sales.

Week one came and went. That’s okay. There was still time.

Week two arrived. No chance I’d go on a work night — so what would the weekend bring?

I had a comedy show booked on Saturday night and thought maybe, while I was out, I could tack it on the end.

I took a trip to the 24-hour Kmart to buy new socks instead, so the rest of the evening wasn’t exactly wasted.

All that remained was Sunday night. The final night. The night of no charge — the night families typically take advantage of free entry.

You can see where this is going…

Did I go? I did not.

Did I beat myself up over it? I did not.

This year wasn’t my year. And that’s okay. I’m hopeful that next year it might be.

I haven’t let anyone down. I know there are people who’d be happy for me if I did go — but I doubt anyone would judge me because I didn’t.

More importantly, I haven’t let myself down. There was no fight with anxiety. No guilt about what others might think.

There was just a quiet knowing that I’d made a choice. A choice to not force something that didn’t feel right. A choice not to carry “missing out” as a burden.

I did get a photo of the Tasman Bridge lit in red to share with you, though. A soft reminder that some years, watching from the afar is enough.

If this resonated with you — whether you’ve also skipped something that “everyone” seems to do, or you’re learning to honour your own timing — I’d love to hear about it.

Feel free to leave a comment, or subscribe if you’d like more quiet reflections like this in your inbox.

Either way, thank you for sitting in the other seat with me today.

Cover photo by Ekaterina Krusanova on Unsplash