Everyone knows that you are bound to get sick with the common cold in the first few weeks of college; new germs and a lack of sleep means most of our immune systems are unfortunately vulnerable. I personally fell victim to the evil cold this week; on Sunday I woke from my bed with achy muscles and slowly I found myself sniffling and sneezing. I visited the Wellness Center, and the nurse mercifully handed me enough drugs to help me get better in no time.

But there's another illness less easily cured with handfuls of acetaminophen and loratadine. It's the fear of missing out (otherwise known as FOMO). It is real, and it's intimidating. Attend one interest fair and you'll understand what I mean: organization presidents passive-aggressively hand out pamphlets and stickers, but little do they realize that each flyer is plagued with a superbug, the contagious disease known by busy, young adults as FOMO. There are just so many enticing opportunities at college that it's easy to feel like right away you're missing out and will always want to be a million places at once.

FOMO looks like this: it begins with denial. Most students refuse to accept that the hours in a day are numbered. They dangerously live under the impression that they can do everything and join every club and choose to believe they don't have to make choices between activities or people. Their energy is divided among a hundred activities and is thinly stretched across friendships. Slowly students retreat to libraries and desks in defeat, entirely surrendered to the notion that their studies will indefinitely cause them to miss out. (Note: temporary recovery can be made at this point with free t-shirts and coffee, but this is not a guaranteed antibiotic.) Time management goes out the window, and all hope for a normal social life seems distant. If all of college was like orientation—or the first week of classes, at the very least—then we'd be just fine. It gets harder, however, when classes begin, and you suddenly realize that all grandiosity you were promised can't happen all at once.

Last Saturday I was walking back to the dorms after the football game with a friend—we were tired from the sun and long day, so mostly we enjoyed the silence. As we neared the dorm I turned around to ask my friend a question, but I caught a glimpse of the light leaking through the leaves of the large oaks; the beauty overtook me such that I paused in the middle of the sidewalk and let myself relish in the moment. I pointed out to my friend how the leaves glowed with that indescribable, warm light. I explained to him that I absolutely adored how the sunset itself can be impressive, but I often find myself more enamored with how the consequential shadows and warm glows make the day feel resolute and content. We spent the remainder of our walk talking about appreciating other small moments: two a.m. runs to Waffle House, phone calls with your mom, study dates with all your friends in one small room.

When I reflect on moments like these, I realize I might be too preoccupied with the bigger-than-life parties and my plans for after graduation to properly appreciate the valuable memories and connections with the people that matter in my heart. The thing is, what we really miss out on when we become too preoccupied with lagrandeur are the things that happen all the time, all at once, each day, every second. It's the warmth of the light that seeps in your window on a Sunday morning, even the five-minute walks with classmates when you really take the time to know them better. Maybe it’s the nights you have to eat at the dining hall alone because your roommate is busy, but you end up making a new friend. Why should anyone worry about missing out when the moments worth living are right within our grasp?

We become committed to our perception of college, frequently misled to believe that the best four years of our lives are comprised of big stories and incredible experiences. Friday nights, exciting road trips, and semesters abroad are things to anticipate and love, but they aren't what FOMO is really about; it's about the days we wouldn't expect to be so fulfilling. Quite honestly I can't imagine spending six months somewhere else without the people I have grown to love.

Maybe having that fear is a good thing, because it means that you're where your heart can be its happiest, where you have so much to look forward to that you aren’t content sitting in your room alone. You stop taking moments for granted and grow more appreciation for each God-given day. Having something that makes you feel like there isn’t enough time might just be the very thing that makes you fall in love with each day, each second, each person. So take your Vitamin C supplements and drink your water, but don't be afraid if you catch that case of FOMO--it just might change your heart for the better. Pace yourself, be in the moment, don't worry about what you might be missing because then you're just missing out on what's right in front of you: the best four years of your life (and they're happening right now).