Slowing Down Time
The older I get, the faster time goes.
When I think about my childhood, it feels like a vast expanse of time rather than the roughly two decades it actually was. Whereas the four-plus decades since then have felt more like five years.
I was talking to a friend recently about a “newish” movie we both enjoyed, only to simultaneously realize that the movie came out in the early 2000s. For those of you with calendars, that’s about 20 years ago. My entire childhood. And it feels like yesterday.
Turns out, that phenomenon isn’t just in my head. For most people, time speeds up as we age. If I were a physicist, I could give a cogent explanation of why that is the case, but I’m a lawyer, so that’s not in my wheelhouse. (But if you want to dive in, be my guest.)
One reason for this phenomenon is that sameness creates the perception of time moving quickly. The first 20 years of our life is the opposite of sameness; it’s growth in its purest sense. Every year — sometimes every day — was an exercise in newness, from learning to walk and ride a bike, to discovering reading and math and making friends. Most of us changed schools every few years, and then there was the system shock of moving away to college and starting a new life in a new place with new people.
Adulthood, for many people, can be just the opposite. Contrary to childhood, in adulthood, we strive for the sameness that comes with adult stability: finding a job and staying there, buying a home and staying in it, finding a partner and staying with them, having children and raising them.
Quite literally, the hallmarks of success as an adult are what make the calendar flip faster.
Throw in a pandemic that makes our world even smaller and our routine even more routine, and you have sand just rocketing through the hourglass.
I turned 60 a few years ago and the full weight of how quickly time was flying hit me. So, I vowed to do what I could to slow it down as much as possible. With any luck, I’ve still got another three decades left, and I don’t want them to feel like six months.
Here’s what I try to do to slow down time:
Novelty: As great as it was to slow down and reclaim some of my time during the Covid quarantine, the sameness of that year-plus made time collapse. Now, I’m making a concerted effort to put as much novelty in my life as possible. I try to travel whenever possible, but when that’s not possible, I mix up my life as much as I can by trying new restaurants and stores, experimenting with new recipes and workouts, and checking out fun neighborhoods in my hometown of Dallas (which is growing so fast these days that I could spend my life exploring it and probably never finish the job).
Mindfulness: As a dedicated multi-tasker out of necessity, I’ve struggled with this one. But I still try to do it as much as possible, particularly when I’m in a particularly memorable place or situation (such as two recent family weddings). But I don’t reserve it for once-in-a-lifetime events. I slow down and take in the moment whenever I’m doing something I want to store in my memory banks: lunch with a girlfriend, a quiet dinner with my husband, and cuddle time with my dogs. I have to constantly resist the urge to game out “what’s next on my agenda?” because nothing will kill the joy of a special moment like realizing I spent the whole time figuring out the logistics of making my next deadline.
Judicious picture-taking: The last time I went to a concert, I was stunned by how many people had their cameras on the whole time, recording the concert rather than enjoying it in the moment. As a rule-following lawyer, of course, I bristled at the blatant intellectual property theft. But I also wanted to tell them that they were ruining their memories by filming/photographing the concert rather than simply watching it. Psychologists say that’s because, by taking photos of an event, we’re subconsciously “offloading” the work of remembering it to our cameras, so our brain doesn’t think it needs to capture it. I’ve since resolved to be far more selective in my picture-taking. Whenever possible, I rely on a professional (say, at a wedding) to capture the special moments. But if that’s not an option, I take a few snaps at the beginning or end of an event, and practice my mindfulness while I’m there to capture it in my memory banks. Photos, however, are only good if they’re seen. So, rather than leaving all my photos on my phone or on my computer, I make an annual photo album. The simple act of compiling the highlights of the previous year is a lovely exercise in time expansion.
Journaling: I’d love to say I do this daily, but it’s more like a few times a week. But keeping a journal of highlights helps me imprint my special, novel memories so that they don’t blend into the background. The simple act of recording and reliving the special moments of the last few days helps me hold on to them and slow down the calendar. Some people say their social media timeline provides the same function. I don’t use social media much, so I can’t speak to that. I do, however, leave Google reviews, particularly when I’ve enjoyed a particular hotel, restaurant, or spa. I have found that occasionally re-reading my reviews, particularly when I’ve added photos, has helped me relive and re-imprint those memories.
If you have any tips to slow the passage of time, please share them in the comments.
#OnlyJoy
Kathleen