I know I’m not the only one who feels that every trip we make around the sun is somehow a weird microcosm of life itself. Each starts so painfully boring and slowly but miraculously compresses and intensifies to a frenetic ending. The lovely New Yorker cartoon by Roz Chast over there is a good example. I have a convoluted theory about this involving time travel and the speed of light, your resting heart rate, how far you ever roam from home, and black holes. But you’re much better off – trust me – if you simply read Why time begins to pass more quickly as you age, by Gregg Easterbrook, which contains this brilliant passage:
In youth the school day is eternal, summer camp lasts a lifetime, the seasons drag on, anticipated events are distant. Around middle age, time begins to speed up. Didn’t we just go home for Thanksgiving a couple months ago? Once the senior years begin, snap your fingers and summer is over.