I recently lost my aunt after she courageously fought cancer for quite some time. She was such a wonderful person, always reminding us in her later years that time is, well, the only thing we can’t get back, and that the clock seems to tick faster the older we get.
When I was younger, I thought this was just typical sentiments you hear from older folks. But standing by her grave on a dreary Sunday morning, it all clicked for me.
It’s like we created this effortless paradise that our ancestors could only dream of, but then we realized it sometimes makes life feel just like one endless weekend.
Back in the 19th century, a French philosopher named Paul Janet presented a mathematical explanation for why time seems to speed up. He mentioned that for a 2-year-old, a single year takes up 50% of their entire life! But for someone who’s 50, that same year only accounts for about 2% of their timeline. It’s a pretty neat way to explain why time feels like it’s slipping away, though it doesn’t really get into the mental side of things.
Reeling in the years
A recent study offers a more complex view on this. Researchers have speculated that the feeling of time accelerating as we age might stem from the lack of new experiences as adults compared to childhood and adolescence. The more monotonous days blend into one another, making entire years feel like they vanish.
After studying 120 adults aged between 20 and 91, the researchers found no real connection between how long participants felt the past decade lasted and how many personal memories they recalled, or how significant those memories were to them. Instead, they noticed that this sensation of fast-moving time was linked to poorer cognitive abilities, especially on tasks requiring delayed memory recall.
The outcome hints at the idea that perhaps our ability to create new memories influences why time seems to fly as we get older. It also makes you wonder just how much of our lives we truly remember.
Wasted on the way
Take a moment to think about hopping onto an airport shuttle in a new city versus your daily commute. In that unfamiliar city, everything grabs your attention: the smell of exhaust, the odd angles of streetlights, the driver’s accent—each tiny detail stands out. Years later, you might still recall that quick seven-minute journey.
Contrast that with your daily commute. You’ve traveled that route countless times. It’s so familiar that you barely even think about it. By the time you reach the office, you’ve lost 40 minutes of conscious thought, hardly able to recall what happened between leaving your home and arriving at your desk.
And then there are smartphones, which have introduced another efficient method of letting hours slip by unnoticed. Millions globally spend hours glued to screens, watching strangers trying to sell ridiculous products or bickering about trivial matters. It’s ironic, really, spending so much on these devices that compete for our attention, all while we barely notice our own lives unfolding.
Even our efforts to capture memories can hinder our ability to form them. A study from 2014 by psychologist Linda Henkel revealed that people who took photographs during a museum visit tended to remember fewer details about the exhibits compared to those who simply observed. It’s not a one-size-fits-all effect—more focused photography yielded different outcomes—but it does suggest an interesting point. A parent might leave a child’s piano recital with a lovely recording but not much clear memory of the performance itself.
Where the time goes
Family life has its unique relationship with time, too. Parenting often feels like an endless cycle of chores: diapers to change, reminding kids not to eat Lego pieces, packing lunchboxes, folding laundry, driving kids to soccer practice… Yet parents everywhere, no matter where they are, are often astonished by how quickly their little ones grow into adults.
Children constantly introduce novelty into their families through broken bones, lost teeth, unexpected conversations about death, and random creatures they bring into the living room. Days can drag on, as every moment demands attention, but somehow, looking back, the years seem to zoom past.
In many ways, our modern society has prioritized convenience in every aspect. We tap an icon to get food delivered. Movies are streamed through algorithms that predict our preferences. We frequently substitute memes and texts for real conversations. It’s like we constructed a comfortable paradise our ancestors would envy, only to feel like life is just one long weekend.
However, some of our most cherished memories stem from repeating familiar activities. Traditions, whether it’s holiday meals or annual camping trips, may seem mundane from the outside. Yet those moments become significant markers in our memories. Rarely do we recall a random Tuesday from years ago, but we often remember the Thanksgiving when the turkey burnt or that road trip where the car broke down and Dad unleashed a colorful language.
Now that my aunt has passed, I find myself reminiscing about those Sundays spent at her home. I can almost taste the roast dinners, savor the countless slices of cake, feel the warmth of the tea, and hear her nudging me to make something meaningful out of my life.
Back then, I thought those leisurely Sundays would last indefinitely.
