Time flies when you’re getting old. Yes, indeed. One year closer to death. Exciting, isn’t it?

So, it’s 2015, and I can’t help but acknowledge that universal experience that’s become associated with getting “old”; it’s the moment when “looking back” gives you metaphoric whiplash as you peer through squinted eyes and rhetorically inquire:

“Didn’t we JUST do this?”

Yes. Yes we did.

At least that’s the way it feels. Somewhere between high school and my mid 20’s someone accidentally hit warp speed without my say so, and now I’m stuck hurdling through time like Doc Brown on a mission to right the wrongs of humanity. Any day now I expect to emerge from the bathroom—after what I perceive to be a 10-minute “Number 2”—to find an abandoned city in ruins with a sign that says “Gone to Mars — Love Humans”.  

I’m a big believer in the scientific method, and using only my perception as a means to control variables, I can say (without a doubt) that time seems to move much more quickly now. In my last post of December I mentioned how, as a child, Christmas morning seemed to take about 37 years to arrive. That phenomenon of time passing so slowly is a rare occurrence now a days. The only time that happens now is when I’m at a red light, or if I’m anticipating a reply text message about information I MUST have immediately. Other than that, time is very much a blur for the most part.

I once discussed this phenomenon with a friend who, quite brilliantly, solved the mystery entirely between a few sips of dark ale. He said that the reason we perceive time to pass more quickly as we age is because the proportion of time is takes for events to happen, with respect to how LONG we’ve been living, becomes smaller.

Simply put:

Waiting for Christmas seems a lot longer to a ten-year-old because he/she hasn’t been alive very long.

That one year represents 1/10 of his ENTIRE LIFE, as opposed to a thirty-five-year-old, of whose life the year constitutes a measly 1/35. Sounds about right to me.

The scariest part of all is that, as we age, we’re moving faster and faster towards the unknown. People talk a lot about being haunted by their past, but the superficial and thoughtless side of me can’t wrap my mind around that.

The past is over. Gone. And relatively known. But the future? That bad boy just keeps on coming and you don’t know WHAT the hell that’s about. NO. FRIGGIN. CLUE. You wake up, and there it is. There’s the future, hanging over you, watching you sleep as you drift your way aimlessly into its arms. Creepy.

I can’t quite remember the day I began to “feel” my body and the effects of years spent not sleeping due to insomnia, but I knew that things were changing the moment I got a good night’s sleep and woke up at 8am on a gosh darn Saturday. Brutal. You know your getting older when you start planning to get up early almost every single weekend. Adults and old people have to get up early—mostly because laying in bed too long actually hurts about as much as going to the gym after a three month hiatus.

Then there’s the lack of hang overs. This probably has more to do with your mature brain’s ability to enforce the gift of foresight. No one in their early 20’s stops in the middle of an all-night alcohol binge to drink 2-4 glasses of lemon water; we’d rather break our minds’ and bodies’ will to exist by drowning them both in the subsequent headache and nausea to follow.

Luckily, though, there’s a nice trade off. For all the good times that slip away so quickly, so do the bad times. As we age, there’s a unspoken indoctrination of every mature mind in the school of


Suddenly, you stop sweating the small stuff. You get better sleep. And all of those people who never “approved” of your dreams, aspirations, and baggy indian pants you bought because they looked SO COOL on the internet, can have have a nice warm glass of shut-the-hell-up.

So here’s to 2015.

2016, see you in a minute.