Fritter & Waste the Hours

 

Why does time seem to pass at different speeds at different points in our lives? I read a fascinating theory a number of years ago that resonates as true, at least to me:

Remember when we were kids, and the summers would last seemingly for months and months and months? You'd get out of school in June, and that time between then and the week after Labor Day seemed to be endless. It was roughly three months, but those three months yawned open in front of us like years filled with endless possibilities.

 

As adults, not so much. For adults, years slip by like they are months. What? But why? And more-- how is that even fair?

 

Three months is, however, three months; when we were kids, and now as adults. The objectivity of measurable time didn't change-- three months is roughly ninety days-- so why does our perception of it change? Let's take the objectivity of time out of the equation, and look at it as relative/subjective.

From a kid's perspective, time seems to pass slowly, because (ie) a year to a four year-old is a lot smaller of a ratio than a year to a forty year-old. To the four year-old, a year is literally a quarter of their lives; a significant percentage of time, from the four year-old's perspective.

 

For the adult, however, one year is a much less significant block of time— only 1/40th of their lives to a forty year-old; a much smaller ratio of time. And we feel it, as well. You know as well as I do that time seems to speed by, the older you get... so it is a real phenomenon. But why? Again, isn't time objective, no matter what you think of it?

 

And then there's The Zone. Athletes experience it, as do artists of all types. Anything that requires intense concentration, in fact, experiences The Zone. This is when time very specifically and deliberately seems to slow down, and the subject becomes "hyper mindful," enabling them to do almost superhuman feats.

 

Take a batter in baseball, for instance. When the batter is in the batter's box, and concentrating on the pitcher and the ball, they will tell you that time seems to stops for them, all-but allowing them to count the seams on the ball as it comes towards them at the plate.

It takes a major league fastball that's thrown at 95mph roughly 0.425 seconds to get from the mound to the plate, crossing 60 feet, six inches of space in the interim. Here is the specific mechanics of it: A 95 mph fastball travels at approximately 139 feet per second, reaching home plate in about 0.425 seconds. The human brain takes around 100 milliseconds to process the image of the ball coming towards them. Once the brain registers the pitch, the hitter has a very short window (around 125-225 milliseconds) to decide if and where to swing. The actual swing itself takes around 150 milliseconds.

 

As my Dad used to say, the hardest thing in professional sports is hitting a round ball with a round bat. Looking at those numbers, it's easy to believe that thought. It would in fact be near impossible, were it not for The Zone of hyper-concentration.

If you've ever stepped into a batter's cage and took some swings at balls thrown by the pitching machine, you know exactly how hard it is to hit a 95mph fastball. The average person might hit just as many with their eyes closed and swinging wildly.

 

The professional ballplayer, however, isn't the average person. The pro can get into The Zone, and with that hyper concentration/focus, hit the ball consistently and on purpose three or four times out of ten. Doesn't sound like a lot, but it actually is-- if you average anywhere from .300-.400 in the majors you're probably an all-star.

 

Same method goes to the artist as well. When the artist is deeply concentrating on

what they are creating, the Zone takes control and does funny things with time.

It becomes very, very subjective.

 

I know that when I am writing, for example, I could close my office door at 6:00am, work on my project for what feels to me like an hour of subjective time, and then find that five hours have passed in the objective sense. It's a very strange phenomenon, hyper focus. It allows our brains to bend time, if you will, taking what is normally an objective measure of the passing time and making it a subjective experience that can last more or less, depending on the situation, than the time that is flowing "outside" of our hyper focused bubble.

 

Could this be a key regarding the aforementioned speed of the passing of time difference

between when we are younger and when we are older? Undoubtedly it plays a role, the

idea of hyper focus, or as new agers like to call it, "mindfulness."

 

So what is this thing called "mindfulness?" Yes, it's when we are intentionally mindful of

what's going on around us, but what does it actually mean to be mindful?

 

We define time as the past, the present, and the future. As humans, we very rarely actually live in the present time. But what do you mean? Of course I live in the present time—what choice in the matter do I have? Not so fast. Let’s think about

your thoughts for a moment. What are you thinking about? Usually, you’re worried about something that has already happened (the past), such as with regret, fondness, euphoria. Or, maybe you're not thinking about the past; maybe you're worried about a meeting you have later in the week at work, or how you're going to pay a specific bill this month, or what you are going to make for dinner later (the future).

 

Surprisingly, the present isn't something that's generally on our minds. Oh, I guess

you could blame biology for much of that— specifically, our autonomic nervous system—

the physiological system that handle things for us-- our "autopilot," if you will. The ANS evolved to control involuntary bodily

functions like heart rate, digestion, breathing, sweating. You don't, for example, have

to worry about breathing, or keeping your heart beating, or regulating your body

temperature, or a million other things our body handles automatically. Those would literally be "present moment" things.

 

We can “induce” mindfulness, with several mind tricks. One that I like to use, where you can actually feel your perspective change, is counting your breaths. You inhale, and think, “one inhale.” Then you exhale, and you think, “one exhale.” And you do this for about ten breaths—usually by ten breaths you will feel the perspective shift. What’s really going on is that you are forcing your mind to focus on the present moment.

 

There’s a book called “Present Moment, Wonderful Moment,” by Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh, that presents 79 meditative verses, or “gathas,” designed to help you practice mindfulness throughout the day. Basically, they help our minds to slow down, and consider everyday tasks as opportunities to be mindful. For example, upon waking, think:

 

“Waking up this morning, I smile.
“Twenty-four brand new hours are before me.
“I vow to live fully in each moment
“and to look at all beings with eyes of compassion.”

 

Mindfulness can quite literally expand your life, or at least your perception of life. An hour will still be an hour, just as a year was still a year whether you were four or forty. When you practice mindfulness, you are purposely and purposefully putting yourself in the zone of hyperfocus, and the resulting perspective shift can really pull you out of the past and stop you from wandering into the future, and root you mind firmly in the present moment.

 

  

© Ray Cattie