“LATE”? YOUR BRAIN IS LYING TO YOU

You wake up on a Sunday, grab your phone with eyes still half-closed, and within three taps you’re staring at a former classmate who became a director at 35, someone who just got married in a magazine-worthy setting, and a friend who’s just returned from a sabbatical across Europe. While you’re still brushing your teeth, your mind has already sentenced you: “You’re late.”
At that meeting, you present yourself with technical confidence, but the manager’s gaze fixates on the intern who went viral with a bold pitch. “I guess I missed the timing,” you think.
You dedicate yourself, deliver results, graduate — and still feel behind. But: behind according to whom?
This sensation of being “off time” — of thinking you should be further along, more ready, more visible — is a silent epidemic of adulthood. It settles in quietly, wears the mask of rationality, and feeds on every involuntary social comparison.
But here’s a truth almost no one told you: you’re not late — you’re inside a false narrative. And yes, your brain is collaborating with it.
The feeling of being “late” in life doesn’t emerge out of nowhere. It’s not a product of lack of effort or an objective reflection of failure. It’s the result of a subtle cultural engineering — one that shapes expectations, dictates timelines, and imposes metrics of personal worth based on invisible yet omnipresent standards.
This architecture of “ideal time” is so powerful that we end up measuring our trajectory with rulers we never chose. The most dangerous part? Those rulers were forged in historical and social contexts that no longer serve us — yet we still obey them as if they were natural laws.
It’s time to revisit the origin of this myth.
Where does this idea come from — that there is a specific point at which things “should” happen? Who decided that 30 is the new 20 — but also the new 40 — and why does it weigh so heavily on us?
This is the moment when the clock stops being a tool — and becomes a prison. And perhaps the most surprising part is this: even with all the autonomy and access to information we have today, many of us still live by a time that isn’t ours — but rather inherited, imposed, and naturalized as truth.
So this isn’t a text about simply “accepting your time.” It’s a journey to dismantle that logic — piece by piece — and rebuild a more lucid, fair, and powerful relationship with your path.

Shall we begin?
Let’s unearth its historical roots, expose its neurological triggers, and understand why, despite having more freedom than ever before, we still feel indebted to a timeline that was never truly ours.
In this article, I go beyond shallow self-help and clichéd advice like “everyone has their own time.” You’ll understand how neuroscience explains this trap — how your brain distorts time, progress, and worth — why society still demands outdated timelines, and how it’s possible to hack this structure with strategies that unite science, practical philosophy, and a new way of relating to your journey.
Get ready to reflect, confront yourself — and perhaps, for the first time, make peace with the place you are now.

Why Do We Feel “Late”?
Have you noticed that even joy seems to have an expiration date?
By 30, you’re expected to have a stable love life. By 40, to have racked up LinkedIn-worthy achievements. And if you’re still discovering your calling at 50, brace yourself for patronizing glances.
This pressure isn’t natural. It’s programmed.
And it didn’t start with you — it started with the whistle of the factories.
The obsession with an “ideal timeline” was born during the Industrial Revolution, when human time was subordinated to the time of machines. The clock stopped being a tool and became a judge: organizing shifts, dictating behaviors, and imposing existential milestones. Life turned into an emotional and professional assembly line — with stages, deadlines, and standardized goals.
But the human soul was never made to run on rails.
Even today, we follow this logic: we chronometer happiness, compare achievements, place experience under the stopwatch, and judge competence by age brackets.
We live as if fulfillment had an expiration date. A revealing data point: a study published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology (2023) showed that 87% of people who feel “late” are within the statistical average of achievements for their age. In other words: the sensation of being behind is less a fact and more a filter — distorted, invisible, and cruel.
The blame isn’t all yours — it’s also your brain’s.
Digital overexposure distorts perception: you see others’ highlights and interpret them as norms. Your brain — through the telescoping effect — shortens others’ journeys, ignores the backstage, and creates the illusion that everything happened fast and easily. What was supposed to be inspiration turns into pressure. The feed becomes a sentence.
Meanwhile, your own trajectory — with detours, pauses, reinventions, and setbacks — is seen as a flaw, not as humanity. But there is another paradigm. One that rejects immediacy and honors what matures with time.
According to the Lindy Effect, the longer something lasts, the more likely it is to remain relevant. The logic is the opposite of the cult of speed: what lasts, matters. What is born and dies quickly was just foam. Consistent journeys are slow, subterranean, and lack instant glamour — but they are deep and authentic.
This reminds me of a song by Marillion in the emblematic Happiness is the Road: “It’s not how you leave, it’s what you leave behind. It’s not where you go, it’s how you make the journey.”
Maybe, just maybe, you are exactly where you need to be — not to prove something to anyone, but to transform into what could only emerge at this point in the road.
And that… doesn’t fit in spreadsheets or comparisons.
Frequently, 18 or 19-year-old college students seek me out for Cognitive Behavioral Development processes focused on leadership. They arrive burdened with a common expectation: they believe I will deliver ready-made formulas, magical steps, an infallible manual to become extraordinary leaders overnight — the classic “leadership guru” with all the answers to shine in their first job.
This belief reveals a deep urgency, an almost anxious rush to “get there,” as if leadership were an immediate result, a destination mapped on a linear path, not a complex, organic, and multifaceted construction.
What these young people haven’t realized yet — and what Neuroscience, Cognitive Behavioral Development, and practice clearly show — is that there are no shortcuts or magic formulas to lead with authenticity. True leadership is born from maturity built over time, from absorbed mistakes, cultivated relationships, and conscious presence.
This illusion of the instant guru is another face of the “right time” trap: the anxiety for immediate results, which, far from accelerating the journey, can imprison development and perpetuate frustration.
As I explore in my book The Map Is Not the Territory, the Territory Is You, if there is no solid and consistent trajectory in our personal territory, we will never be able to accurately read life’s maps — and this applies to all dimensions of our development. Trajectory is the foundation of wisdom, and wisdom is the key to navigating with safety and purpose. A life worth living cannot ignore what is truly fundamental:
“Life isn’t about how long it took you to arrive. It’s about who you became while walking.”

How Your Brain Sabotages Your Self-Esteem
Comparison is as old as humanity. From an anthropological and evolutionary perspective, this dynamic is a primordial tool for survival and social development: it positions us within the group, enables learning through others, and supports the creation of goals for our own growth.
Psychologically, this internal interaction manifests in the constant dialogue between three metaphorical “selves” that compose the structure of the self:
• Real Self: the concrete being, with our achievements, limitations, and the stories we carry today.
• Ideal Self: the aspirational image, the excellence and perfection we aim to reach.
• Desired Self: the reflection we project to the world — how we wish to be seen and recognized.
This triad, far from being pathological, is the engine that drives identity, purpose, and motivation for transformation. In this context, comparison is a tool that promotes adaptation and connection.
Imbalance arises when the Ideal and Desired Selves crystallize into rigid and unattainable standards, and the Real Self begins to be judged through a relentless and constant gaze. Self-criticism becomes a vicious cycle, where comparison ceases to be a beacon and becomes a mental trap.
Here, neuroscience sheds light on this process: this misalignment activates brain circuits related to social pain and chronic stress — neural territories where rejection and fear of exclusion are processed. So, when you perceive someone as being “ahead” of you in some area of life, your brain reacts as if there were a real threat to your social survival.
This mechanism is not merely a psychological whim, but an essential evolutionary remnant — belonging to a group was, and still is, vital to life. The contemporary problem lies in our inability to reframe these emotions and design authentic self-development strategies, independent of the tyranny of comparison.
The amygdala, which modulates fear and anxiety, sends out alarm signals even in response to the subjective feeling of being “behind,” interpreting it as a real threat.
Moreover, your brain is a victim of the telescoping effect: a cognitive bias that shortens the perceived timeline of others’ achievements, making them seem swift and obvious, when in fact they result from complex, long, and often invisible journeys.
When you see a colleague celebrating a promotion, your mental system ignores the years of silent effort, the doubts, failures, and sleepless nights that preceded that moment. The result is a cruel and misleading narrative, where someone else’s life becomes a distorted mirror of your deepest insecurities.
Recent neuroimaging studies confirm that negative comparisons activate the anterior cingulate cortex — a center associated with processing social pain — which is why feeling “behind” hurts almost like an explicit rejection. This area acts as a bridge between the limbic system (emotion) and the prefrontal cortex (cognition), playing a crucial role in integrating emotional and cognitive information. In other words, your brain doesn’t distinguish between physical threat and a threat to your self-image; both trigger intense, nearly automatic emotional responses.
To make things worse, the negativity bias feeds this cycle, directing your attention more toward perceived failures than actual achievements — such as overcoming challenges, learning, and building meaningful relationships. It’s like looking at a forest and only seeing the fallen trees, ignoring the resilient ones still standing.
Imagine a professional who, after months of dedication, receives a single criticism in a meeting while colleagues celebrate external victories. The pain of that comparison is less about the event itself and more about how the brain registers the experience as an existential threat to one’s identity and value.

Human Time Is Not Linear
Before we move on to strategies that can disarm the “ideal time” trap, it’s essential to challenge the very premise that sustains this pressure: the belief that human progress must be linear, continuous, and predictable. Contemporary society — amplified by its digital culture and hyperconnected environment — pushes us to believe that life is an ascending staircase, with clear, rigid, and uniform steps.
However, environmental social psychology reminds us that our behavior and perception are shaped by cultural and environmental contexts. The environment in which we are embedded — its norms, values, dominant narratives, and social networks — exerts a decisive influence on how we interpret our trajectory. This cultural and social configuration, far from neutral, is the fertile ground where anxiety and the feeling of inadequacy take root.
The deeper truth is that human time is singular and multifaceted. Our personal progress doesn’t unfold in a straight line, but in spirals — with meaningful pauses, setbacks, and unpredictable leaps. Moments of stagnation or “failure” are not breaks, but essential parts of building learning and maturity.
A longitudinal study from Stanford University (2022) followed individuals labeled as “early geniuses” — people who achieved extraordinary success before the age of 30. Surprisingly, 70% of them experienced deep emotional collapses or regretted choices that sacrificed their well-being, relationships, or self-awareness for the sake of rapid, external goals. This finding underscores that “early success” is not synonymous with a fully integrated or fulfilled life.
Comparing your journey to someone else’s is, in practice, like trying to measure an abstract painting with a ruler meant for realistic photography: each has its own internal logic and value. Human life pulses in diverse rhythms, and there is no single universal model to define what progress, value, or maturity means.
Recognizing and embracing this temporal plurality is the first step to freeing yourself from the tyranny of imposed timelines and cultivating both an internal and external environment more conducive to authentic flourishing.

Radical Strategies to Reprogram Your Perception
Now that we understand the neurobiological, cultural, and environmental roots of the feeling of being “behind,” it’s time to move toward practical and transformative strategies. These tools integrate neuroscience, behavioral psychology, and applied philosophy, designed to cultivate mental clarity, emotional resilience, and a renewed sense of purpose — essential elements for dismantling the weight of linear time and reconnecting with your genuine path.

1. Connect with Your “Future Self” — The Neuroscience of Self-Efficacy and Tridimensional
Time First and foremost, it’s essential to recognize that our internal territory exists within a complex temporal reality. Saint Augustine, in his reflection on time, provokes us with the idea of the present of the past, the present of the present, and the present of the future — a kind of temporal triangle in which past, present, and future coexist and shape our experience.
This philosophical provocation is a compass for any journey of self-knowledge and transformation: it’s not possible to envision an authentic and achievable future if we are not lucid and anchored in the past that constitutes us and fully present in the now that enables us to act.
You can’t build something solid out of nothing — the “future self” can only be constructed from a clear understanding of the internal foundations that make us capable of getting there. This lucidity gives us the real ability to transcend immediacy and avoid the traps of empty comparison and unproductive anxiety.

The Neuroscience of Self-Efficacy in Dialogue with Time
When we invite someone to connect with their “future self,” we’re not merely visualizing an idealized scenario, but activating neural networks responsible for strategic planning, emotional regulation, and hope — functions linked to the prefrontal cortex. In other words, ‘neurophenomenologically’, our time is not a line but a dynamic field, where past, present, and future dance in a symphony that our brain translates into emotion, memory, and hope.
However, for this projection to be genuine and productive, the individual must be anchored in the present of the present, with clear awareness of the marks and lessons from the present of the past. Only then can this temporal connection generate a coherent narrative axis that respects the uniqueness of the personal journey and enables aligned and sustainable decisions.
For example, I recently worked with a 33-year-old executive who was burdened by the belief that she was “wasting time” and doomed to imminent failure. The initial work wasn’t simply to induce a vision of her future self, but to review her history with clarity — identifying strengths, learnings, and core values.
It was this anchoring in a present aware of the past that allowed her to create a vision of the future that wasn’t a fantasy imposed by external standards, but an organic extension of what she had already been building. This experience reduced her anxiety and transformed the sensation of being “behind” into a fertile space for genuine new beginnings.
How to Practice
• Set aside at least 30 minutes a day in a quiet environment where you can turn inward, anchoring yourself in the present of the present.
• Bring to mind what is most vital from your past — your achievements, learnings, and breakthroughs — not as a burden, but as a solid foundation.
• From that lucid base, build a vivid image of your future self, including the emotions, values, and relationships you wish to cultivate.
• Engage in internal dialogue: “What lessons from my past support the future I desire? What does my future self recognize as essential that I can honor now?”
• Write a letter from your future self to your present self, with compassion and strategic clarity — a temporal bridge that respects who you are and where you can go.
This practice is not new — it is philosophy, neuroscience, and cognitive behavioral development working together. It is an invitation to abandon the illusion of hurry and superficial comparison. It is the construction of an authorial map, where past, present, and future converse so that your path becomes a singular journey of meaning and maturity.

2. Adopt Psychological Distancing — The “Neutral Observer” Method
The self-criticism that paralyzes us almost always arises from a mind devoid of living certainties — a mind filled with absorbed truths, internalized beliefs, and stories we inherited or constructed throughout life without questioning. It’s not enough to merely experience the world: we must truly experience it — that is, be present for each moment, observing and challenging the paradoxes around us, for therein lies the essence of the reason for living.
When self-criticism erupts, our mind is often immersed in an emotional load that clouds our rational ability to evaluate the situation with balance. Psychological distancing is a neurobehavioral tool that invites us to adopt the posture of the “neutral observer” — one who analyzes without judgment, with strategic compassion and deep clarity.
Recent studies (Frontiers in Psychology, 2024) confirm that this technique increases emotional resilience by up to 34%, especially in high-pressure and demanding contexts.
A very common practical example I work with is that of young leaders, in a DCC process focused on public speaking, burdened with limiting beliefs. For instance, André had a vivid memory: during college, he used to tremble when speaking in public. He remembered the discreet laughter of classmates, the cold sweat running down during presentations, and the voice that sometimes failed in the opening seconds. In his professional life, insecurity persisted — he hesitated in meetings, avoided taking a stand in front of leadership, and withdrew when speaking to his direct manager.
After an unsuccessful presentation to a strategic committee, he experienced an internal collapse: he labeled himself as “inadequate,” “not born to lead,” “someone who always arrives late to his own potential.”
During our sessions, I proposed to him the transpersonal exercise of the “neutral observer.” I asked him to revisit that presentation not as the embarrassed protagonist, but as a kind and impartial spectator. He began to notice nuances that had previously gone unnoticed: the content was consistent, the insecurity was emotional, not cognitive; and most importantly, the expressions of judgment he feared came more from his internal projections than from the faces in front of him.
That narrative repositioning changed everything. Anxiety visibly decreased. Performance came to be seen as an experience — not a verdict. Shame gave way to presence. It was in that space that his public speaking began to flourish — not as a technique, but as an authentic expression of identity, focused on the experience without the emotional corrosion typical of destructive self-criticism.
How to practice: Close your eyes and imagine this neutral camera. Observe your gestures, your voice, your environment. Notice the details with curiosity, without judgment.
• When self-criticism arises, imagine a neutral camera filming the scene externally. Ask yourself: “What would this impartial observer see? What words would they use to describe this situation?”
• Reframe your internal questions: instead of “Why am I like this?” ask, “Why did I feel this way? What information am I failing to observe?”
• Keep a brief daily journal where you record episodes of self-criticism, describe them impartially, and note what you’ve learned.
This practice shifts the mind from the realm of guilt to the field of reflective curiosity, strengthening strategic compassion — the ability to recognize our emotions without being dominated by them, paving the way for emotional and cognitive maturity.

3. Redesign Your Progress Ruler — Applied Philosophy
The pressure of time and comparison comes from the external ruler we use to measure our worth — often arbitrary and disconnected from our reality. Stoic philosophy invites us to shift our focus to what is under our control: our actions, intentions, and inner learning.
Practical example: In sessions, I guide clients to define daily micro-achievements that reflect their true values — whether it’s an honest conversation, a self-care practice, or the effort to learn something new. These small victories rebuild the internal narrative of success, far from imposed and external standards.
How to practice:
• List three daily micro-achievements that reflect your progress, even if small.
• Reflect on your personal definition of success, beyond titles, numbers, or external validations.
• Cultivate active gratitude by recognizing the deeper aspects of your journey, not just visible results.
Redesign Your Progress Ruler The feeling of being “behind” often stems from a fundamental error: using an external ruler to measure an internal journey. We compare our backstage to the stage of others, forgetting that every success ruler must consider the terrain where it’s planted. When that ruler comes from outside — from culture, from the feed, from someone else’s position or societal expectations — it doesn’t measure, it mutilates.
Stoic philosophy teaches: serenity is born when we shift focus from what escapes our control (outcomes, time, others’ judgment) to what belongs to us: our choices, actions, intentions, and learnings. But for this philosophical practice to be real, it’s not enough to romanticize self-care or “living in the present” — we must confront, with lucidity, the internal architecture of the self:
• Who am I (Real Self)?
• Who do I want to be (Ideal Self)?
• How do I want to be perceived (Desired Self)?
This triad forms the psychological compass of our journey. There’s nothing wrong with aspiring — the mistake lies in aspiring without clarity of cost, without commitment to the journey, without a pact with reality. Remember: “Does what you desire require a life to sustain it?” That is the question many avoid — but it defines the difference between a legitimate desire and a compensatory fantasy.
Because wanting comes with a price. And those unwilling to pay that price — with time, energy, sacrifice, and reconfiguration — are merely dating an idea of success.
One example is one of the most remarkable sessions I had, where a C-Level executive confessed that his constant anguish didn’t come from job pressure, but from the suffocating feeling of always being “behind” — as if there were a finish line he could never reach.
As we dove together into that feeling, we unearthed a silent belief rooted in his youth: that he would only be worthy if he made a great impact before turning 40. This belief didn’t appear out of nowhere.
He grew up in a dysfunctional family, where his father had a recurring habit of humiliating him in front of others, constantly comparing him to the successful children of friends. It was as if he was always behind, always insufficient, always indebted in performance. That conditional value logic became the backdrop of his psyche — and no matter how many prominent positions, awards, or recognition he earned, no victory seemed enough to silence that internal script: “You still owe.”
It was only by mapping that emotional origin with clarity, reframing the comparison matrix, and redesigning his ruler of value based on his real biography and personal values that he began to experience a new state of presence — not one of chronic pressure, but of conscious construction.
How to practice this metric realignment: • Take inventory of your current ruler: List the parameters you use (even unconsciously) to feel “on time” or “behind.” Ask yourself: Are these criteria mine or absorbed? Are they aligned with my biography, my context, my current values?
• Rewrite your internal success criteria with radical honesty: Include micro-achievements that don’t depend on external validation, such as: – “Today I was able to speak up with authenticity.” – “I maintained my integrity under pressure.” – “I had the courage to pause and reflect.”
• Calculate the existential cost of what you desire: Desiring something is legitimate — but it’s wise to ask: – How much time, energy, sacrifice, and discomfort am I willing to invest to sustain this desire? – Am I ready to be who I need to be to live what I desire? – Does this desire transform me or merely numb me from current frustration?
• Practice active gratitude focused on the process: Daily, acknowledge three elements that are part of your journey and reflect real growth, even if imperceptible to the outside eye. This reconfigures comparison-based dopamine into presence-based serotonin.

Progress Is Singular
The feeling of being “behind” is, above all, a social construct — fueled by an invisible ruler that measures life by others’ milestones and the best moments edited in digital showcases. But there is something even more insidious: it’s not just the comparison with others that wounds us — it’s the unconscious incorporation of a script we did not write but follow as if it were ours.
We live under the yoke of a time that is neither biological nor psychological — but performative. We learn, early on, that there is a “right time” to love, to conquer, to marry, to undertake, to get rich, to be promoted. Yet this time does not take into account your story, your pain, your learning curve, your internal terrain. And so anguish is born: the anguish of being out of sync with a metronome that was never yours.
Psychologically speaking, the feeling of being behind is a narrative — and every narrative can be rewritten. But for that, it is necessary to reject the other’s ruler and dare to draw your own. This requires lucidity, courage, and above all, maturity.
Philosophically speaking, time is not linear. As already mentioned, Saint Augustine challenged us with his vision of the “present of the past,” “present of the present,” and “present of the future” — pointing out that there is only one real point from which we live and transform: the now. There is no way to walk toward the future without being radically present in the present. It is the space where authenticity and aspiration meet — a constant dialogue that challenges self-deception and calls for ethical commitment to oneself.
Final Provocation:
In 100 years, no one will remember if you graduated at 25 or 35. If you married at 30 or stayed single. If you accumulated wealth or let it go. What will remain — in the memory of those you touched or in the seeds you planted — is what you created. Not in haste, but with truth. Not with someone else’s goals, but with wholeness. What is made with soul leaves traces that time does not erase.
The paradox is brutal:
When you stop chasing the time they taught you to fear, you discover the time you can create. That is where true productivity is born: not from anxiety, but from purpose. But perhaps someone will still be touched by an idea you planted, by a person you transformed, or by a choice you made with courage — when no one expected you to dare.
The time that matters is not the one running on the clock.
It is the one that beats in the soul.
What remains is not what you rush —
It is what you live with truth.

Finally,
Feeling “behind” is not a factual observation — it is a narrative, psychological, and cultural phenomenon. It is an illusion constructed by a brain that evolved to fear social exclusion and by a society that measures value with others’ rulers. But you can transcend this plot.
Your progress is not where others have arrived, but where you had the courage to remain when everything inside you wanted to give up.
Neuroscience offers us precious keys: the “future self” can be summoned as a compass and mentor; the “neutral observer” can free us from the tyranny of the internal voice whose origin we no longer know. Philosophy returns time to us as art, not punishment. And behavioral psychology shows us that if the world is too big, we can start with a micro-victory — and that already changes everything.
Final Challenge:
Next time the feeling of being behind visits you, don’t fight it. Ask:
“What if I am already exactly where I need to be to learn what I need to learn?”
This question is more than relief. It is a silent revolution.
It breaks the logic of comparison and reconnects you with your own biography — not as an incomplete plot, but as a work in constant elaboration.

Epilogue | When Time Becomes Home
The time that runs over you…
… is the same that can embrace you.
But it demands a radical choice:
Either you live as one who collects trophies,
Or as one who cultivates roots.
Because it is not how much you run —
It is how much of you remains in each step.
And maybe, one day,
someone will not remember what you conquered,
but will remember how they felt beside you.
And that — that is well-lived time.
That is real progress.
That is legacy.
Redefine your ruler. Free your brain. Honor your singularity.
With soul, science, and presence,
Dr. Marcello de Souza

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