Choosing Presence Over Missing Out

Choosing Presence Over Missing Out

Fear of missing out is a quiet force that grows louder in the spaces between where you are and where you wish you could be. It is not just about missing events or places. It is about missing a version of yourself that feels more alive, more connected, more at home. For me, that place has always been Israel.

My last visit was in February 2023. I spent eight days in Herzeliya, and like every time before, something shifted the moment I landed. It is difficult to explain to someone who has never felt it, but for me Israel is not just a destination. It is a feeling of recognition. A sense that I am exactly where I am supposed to be. A sense of home that does not depend on logic or explanation.

Life, however, does not always follow the path we imagine. That same year, I had plans to travel again. Bali was on the calendar, and Israel was meant to follow in October. But on September 12, 2023, my father passed away. Everything changed. Grief has a way of rearranging priorities and draining energy from even the strongest intentions. And then October came, bringing events that shook Israel deeply and left a mark that will not fade easily.

At the same time, something else shifted. My public support for Israel, something that has always been part of who I am, began to affect my professional life. I lost my job. Applications went unanswered. Money became tight. Israel, already an expensive destination, felt further away than ever.

In 2024, life moved forward in unexpected ways. My father had arranged a family trip to Thailand before he passed, and I honored that gift. I also found a new job, but it came with limitations. After a short summer holiday, there were no more days off for the rest of the year. Once again, Israel remained out of reach.

There was a brief moment of stability, followed by another setback. I lost that job too, after my Muslim employer looked me up online and discovered my views. It was a painful reminder that standing for something meaningful can come at a cost. Yet it also strengthened my conviction that some things are worth that cost.

Now it is 2026. I have found work again, and with it a renewed sense of direction. I am exploring the possibility of building a life in Israel, even without the traditional documentation that would make it simple. My connection may not be easily proven on paper, but it exists in actions, in family history, and in personal commitment.

Still, the feeling of missing out has not disappeared. In fact, it has grown sharper. I see friends visiting Israel, walking along the beaches of Tel Aviv, sitting in familiar places, living moments that feel so close and yet so distant. I think about evenings by the sea, simple meals of hummus shared with people who feel like family, conversations that flow effortlessly, and quiet walks through Jerusalem that carry a weight of memory and meaning.

I will not pretend otherwise. There is jealousy in that. There is longing. There is urgency.

But there is also a realization. Fear of missing out is not just about absence. It is about direction. It is a signal pointing toward what matters most. It forces a choice.

I can stay in the space of comparison, watching others live the moments I crave, or I can begin to actively create a path back to where I feel I belong.

That is why I have set a goal. December. A time when I usually feel disconnected from the world around me. This year, I want to transform that period into something meaningful by returning to Israel. Not just as a visitor, but as someone moving closer to a deeper connection.

At the same time, I am building something of my own. A vision called Time To Stand Up For Israel. It is not just a name. It is an intention to create events, conversations, and opportunities that challenge misconceptions and show the complexity and beauty of Israeli society. A place where different cultures meet, where life is vibrant, and where the reality is far more nuanced than many narratives suggest.

If I can grow this into something sustainable, it becomes more than a project. It becomes a bridge. A way to contribute, to belong, and to build a life aligned with what I believe.

In the end, fear of missing out is not cured by waiting for the right moment. It is eased by making choices that bring you closer to what you value, even when the path is uncertain.

You do not find peace. You choose it.

And sometimes, choosing it means refusing to stay on the outside of your own life.