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Here's What Happens When You "Go Out" As A Thirty-Something Traveler

Welcome to the age of FOGO: Fear of going out.

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You and your friends start by choosing your destination wisely.

Mostly because you are too old to party with the douche-y study abroad bros throwing back J├Ągerbombs.

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But also because you know what will happen about .5 seconds after you get there.

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Your first night abroad, you decide to "just throw it out there" and tell your friends that you could also just stay in and chill.

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That jetlag tho.

They obviously agree.

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Takeout and wine! Yessss.

But then you start feeling bad because you're in Paris.

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Or Madrid. Or Sydney. Or anywhere else that required you to resist buying ~all the things~ so you could save your cash for your trip.

And you did not take four days off from work and fly 3,625 miles across the ocean to do exactly what you do at home.

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So you pump yourself up to go out.

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You even put on your ~going out heels~ that you bought back when you thought you would spend every night actually going out abroad.

Still, you question your decision all the way there.

But when you arrive, you see all of the lights and the glittery things, and you quickly get into the mood.

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So 22 right now.

So you make a beeline for the bar because YOLO and 22 and you can totally still hang like you did in your study abroad days.

You proceed to kill it on the dance floor with your sweet moves.

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You even take a drunken moment to remind yourself how awesome you are.

But all of a sudden, you realize you may pass out if you do not get food in your face ASAP.

So you say goodbye to the hot clubbers in the back who were definitely playing hard to get.

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They so wanted you.

And then you shove face.

When you get home, you realize it's only been two hours since you left.

Even so, you feel like death in a can the next morning.

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Those two shots and two vodka sodas really did you in.

And the thought of going sightseeing gives you massive anxiety.

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So you forgo your plan to eat your way through all of the local bistros and order takeout to your Airbnb.

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And then you conclude that since you can't handle your booze the way you used to, you should probably just become a traveling foodie, instead.

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All of the eats.

The best things at three price points