360 days after my PLAB 2 exam, and here I am—sitting behind my desk in rainy Tehran. Last week, while scrolling through Instagram—which is something that I hardly ever do these days—I came across something called FOMO. As with most scrolls, I barely gave it a thought. I saw the term, skimmed the caption about it, and just sensed that it was interesting and maybe a bit related to my state over the last 6 months. However, I moved on. Just another buzzword, I figured. Maybe I had it. Maybe not.

But tonight, sitting in a café on Vanak Street waiting for my salad, it came back to me. I couldn’t even remember the exact term. I just knew it was “fear of something.” So I searched: fear of falling behind. And there it was. That’s what I’ve been feeling. And it wasn’t FOMO. It was something heavier. Older. More existential. FOFB. Fear of Falling Behind.

I searched more and more. I found out that FOMO is about experiences. It’s that sharp little pain when your friends are at a party, on a trip, or starting something exciting—and you’re not there. It feels like exclusion, like everyone’s living in the moment and you’re on the outside looking in.

But FOFB is different. It’s deeper. It’s not about missing a moment—it’s about missing your shot. It hits hardest when you see people your age—or younger—killing it while you’re still figuring things out. Promotions, startups, degrees, marriages, moves abroad, dream jobs, side hustles taking off… and you’re just trying to hold it together. Social media turns into a highlight reel of everyone else’s wins while you’re stuck rewatching your own blooper reel on loop. And this is something that I sensed once in a while during the last 6 months—and it made my days miserable. I know it’s not just about today, yesterday, or the last 6 months. It’s something old in me. Long-term. Unaddressed, like a chronic disease that you endure for decades. It simply and slowly builds on itself and suddenly makes you question your worth or pushes you to make rushed choices.

After all, looking back at the last 6 months—who gets a full-time 6 months in the middle of their late 20s to look deeply into their life, their character, and know themselves better? That’s what these last 6 months offered me, and I’m more than happy with it. It’s like a journey to know yourself. I should read more about it. I recall The Alchemist—a journey to self-discovery. Believe me, it’s a treasure.

FOFB, left unchecked, turns into burnout, imposter syndrome, and a spiral of constant comparison. But if you nurture it—if you sit with it, really sit with it—it can be a wake-up call. A compass. A nudge to reflect, realign, and redefine what your version of “progress” even looks like.

Sometimes progress looks like running. Sometimes it looks like crawling.

And sometimes—it just looks like sitting in a café in Tehran, waiting for your salad, realizing you’re not alone in how you feel.

Life isn’t a race. It’s a chaotic maze.