Time, the measuring of it, is a relative thing. Tell a child sitting in the backseat of a car that you will arrive at the amusement park in fifteen minutes, as opposed to reminding an adult they need to be dressed, and ready to go, in fifteen minutes. By the clock it is the same ticks from minute to minute. Each statement contains nine hundred seconds. Yet, to the eager child, that fifteen minutes seems like hours. It is almost forever. How many times can they say, “Are we there yet?”, in that short period of time. For the adult, fifteen minutes to get anything accomplished is the mere blink of an eye, and virtually impossible when it comes to hair and makeup.
I can remember believing summer vacation was a full year. Winter and school another year. Time appeared to move so slowly. That was just the way it was for all children. I didn’t question it, nor was it a worry. When one is very young time is more measured by events then by hours. Your birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas, the first day of school, the last day of school. Children have no need for clocks, even if they could tell time. If a child wears a watch it’s only to mimic some harried adult, who is the keeper of the child’s time. Sopia it’s time to wake up, time for school, time for dinner, time for bed, and so on.
In later years, it wasn’t so much that time moved more rapidly, but rather the things you jammed into each hour or day. Time didn’t speed along, but it kept a reasonable pace. Of course I understood the changing of the seasons, and how celebrations, work and life, were not counted in time, but accomplishments. Run, run, run. Goals were set, and I moved from goal to goal. The engagement, the wedding, the first baby, the house, and so on.
A year was still a long time. When I considered that I might have to wait a year for any one thing, it stretched out endlessly before me. Yet, suddenly, the year had passed, and that thing I yearned for was in my near reach. I guess that year really wasn’t so long.
Years go by; you stop counting days. Its season to season. Put up the Christmas tree, take it down, turn on the sprinkler system, open the pool, shut the pool, winterize the house, put up the Christmas tree. We’ve all seen movies where the movie maker wishes to depict the passing of time. The camera pulls a close up on a calendar, and a usually ominous wind causes the pages to flutter quickly from the New Year to oft-times two or three years later. Now, I seem to relate, although its usually a breeze rather than an ominous wind. I imagine my life is not as dramatic as an ominious wind might indicate.
I wondered about this. Does time really pass more quickly only because one becomes older? Why did it move so slowly when I was young? Is each minute still sixty seconds, or had some joker pared a minute down to forty-five seconds? What the hell is going on?
I sought the answer only to discover no one really knows why. However there are several theories, and some facts which might lead to possible answers. According to, ‘Krulwich on Science’, it has to do with the time keeping neurons in our brains. Time flows through humans differently as we grow older. The pulses in the older brain recording things around us are slower, therefore, the world around us is moving faster, whereas in the younger brain, as you would imagine, the pulses are faster, therefore they record and observe more in less time therefore slowing it down. They can relate an experience in detail because each experience is new. The detail makes it seem as if it is taking a long time. Routine, on the other hand, makes events seem as if they are going faster.
OMG, I just confused myself. Ok, so then lets forget all that. My opinion is that time moves faster as we get older because we are in training to become Superior Spiritual Beings, in another realm, where time will have no meaning at all. Where everyday is a Holiday, the pool is always open, and the grass is always green.
It’s Just a Matter of Time.