In medical school, I learned that FOMO = fear of missing out.
In residency, Iâm learning that FOMO = fear of mediocrity and ostracism.
History of presenting thought process: on the competitive dance scene, you were always, always comparing yourself to other people. Sometimes this was in constructive ways, because you could be inspired and uplifted by the people around you who loved to do what you loved to do. Sometimes this was in destructive ways, because it didnât matter how hard you trained or how many hours you spent in the studio, your legs/feet/back/shoulders/hands/etc. would never look like that other dancerâs, and someone would always be better than you.
It was utterly inescapableâwhen you werenât at competitions vying for accolades against a bunch of other teams, you were in the studio vying for accolades (or certain parts/positions in the choreography, or selection to be in certain pieces, or selection for a solo, orâŠ) against your teammates. No matter where you were, you were competing; at the barre, in the centre, on the floor, on stage, and, perhaps most dangerously, in your head.
The other competitor that you donât often think about (but who is always present): yourself.
Because every second, every breath, every step is a competition with the previous one you took. Itâs a struggle against the mirrors, the cameras, your body and what it does versus what you want it to do and what you want it to look like. You are always trying to beat the dancer you were yesterday, last week, last month, last year.
And a lot of the time, whether its against yourself or your teammates or your peers, you lose.
Now, in medicine, you are simultaneously trying to fit in and stand out. You are trying to keep yourself afloat, support your colleagues in keeping their heads above water, and also not allowing yourself to drift too far behind them. Youâre trying to find your sense of belonging but also trying to somehow be noticed by sub-specialty programs, prospective employers, research grant committees, and so on and so forth. Meanwhile, youâre trying to shoulder some of your patientsâ suffering so they can breathe a little easier while you can barely find your own breathing room.
You are comparing yourself to your colleagues, who might make it seem easy; they all seem like they do much more reading/studying than you, and that their base knowledge is much more than yours, and that theyâre a tighter-knit group without you. You feel like youâre playing an impossible game of catch-up; before, it was trying time and time again to nail those triple-quadruple (or more) pirouettes, and now itâs trying to keep up with the number of guidelines and recent evidence that everyone has somehow read except you. Theyâre all impressing the staff/attendings and casually talking about interesting cases theyâve encountered and you feel like you need to Google 90% of the things they just tossed in their anecdotes without a second thought. They rant about call shifts and how they saved the day and youâre internally hyperventilating because if you had been in that position, you wouldnât have known what to do.
Everyone else is en pointe and youâre struggling to climb up to their standards. Theyâre involved in 1209384720+ extracurriculars, they have multiple research/QI/QA/advocacy projects ongoing, theyâre doing additional degrees while in residency, theyâre Olympic athletes on the side, theyâre music virtuosos, theyâre running not-for-profits that build houses for homeless children in developing countries, theyâre changing the world around you and meanwhile, you are treading quicksand that seems to get closer and closer to blocking your airways. The weight of everyone elseâs CV is crushing you and your measly CV doesnât stand a chance against those never-ending lists of awards and accomplishments.
Mayday! Mayday! Itâs just like the studios and competitions and other rat races in life, because you feel like youâre coming in dead last.
If you have ever felt like thisâwhether itâs because you also were involved in competitive sports/arts, or because you have also gone to medical school and clawed your way through into residency (and beyond), or because youâve done literally anything else with your lifeâI want you to know that you are not alone. You are not the only one. Your struggle is valid, the tears and frustration and disappointment and anxiety and insecurity are all valid and you arenât any weaker for them.
Next, I want you to take a deep breath. As you exhale, I want you to think about this:
The people who love you donât give a shit about whatâs on your CV or your resume. If someone starts by quoting the awards youâve won, the grants youâve received, or the degrees youâve earned when theyâre delivering your eulogy, then you spent too much time focusing on those things and not enough time invested in the people that matter.
And one person who is always there for you, but you will often forget about, is yourself. You matter, too.
Ultimately, you donât have to be perfect. Seriously, no one expects you to be perfectâthey say âpractice makes perfectâ, but this should probably be revised to âpractice approaches perfect because perfect is an asymptoteâ. You will always have things you can work on and areas where you lack proficiency; the most important thing to do with this information is to re-frame your perspective. Instead of letting it drag you to the precipice of your perceived accomplishments as you look down into the pit of your failures, let it illuminate the direction in which you can continue to grow. These are not your shortcomings or your limitationsâthey are your springboards and your starting lines.
You will still want to be perfect, especially for your patients. You will want to make the right diagnosis 100% of the time, and you will want to make mistakes 0% of the time. But this will not be the case; theyâre great goals to strive toward, but youâll never quite achieve them. (More asymptotes.)
Whatâs probably more important is to care. Donât let your fear of missing out or your fear of mediocrity and ostracism prevent you from caring. Donât reserve all your caring for your patients; remember to keep some for your family, your friends, and yourself.
Care about your patients. They will remember that you laughed at their jokes or asked them how their loved one had been doing. They will remember you listened to them when they were struggling. They will remember that you smiled at them, cried with them, reached out to them when they needed you, and maybe when they had no one else.
Care about whoever it is that you call your family. Let them carry you when you need someone to lean on, and stand beside them when theyâre the ones in need. Make the time to go to those birthday celebrationsâyour textbooks will always be there, but 25th, 50th, 75th birthdays (and all of the ones before, after, in between) are once in a lifetime. You can always catch up on your readings but you canât get back the time you couldâve spent with your kids as they grow up, with your parents as they grow older, or with your partner(s) as they experience the growing pains (and the growing joys) with you.
Care about your friends, the ones that stuck by you through the good and the bad and loved you anyway. Call them, email them, message them, visit them or have them visit you. A good friend will always be worth more than any accolade you could ever receive.
(Care about yourself. Eat your vegetables, exercise, do your laundry, pay your taxes, clean your room, see your own doctorâŠ)
At the very last moment, none of your patients, your family, or your friends will have the faintest clue whether you won this award or that grant or had the highest licensing exam score in the world. They will not know how you stacked up against your colleagues. They will not remember how many lines were on your CV.
They will remember the depth of your love, your empathy, and your compassion. They will remember the time you spent with them. They will remember that you cared. Whether you finish first or dead last in whatever competition you think youâre contending in, what really matters is how you made people (including you) feel along the way.
Itâs time to learn that FOMO = finding oneself moving onward.
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