As we get older, time seems to move faster and faster. I don’t particularly like that.
When you’re young, a year feels enormous. Summer lasts forever. Christmas takes forever to come. And then somehow you wake up one day and find yourself asking, How did I get here?
It’s a fair question.
I don’t fear death. But as Kenny Chesney sings, everybody wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to go now. That’s pretty much where I am. I love my life. I love the people in it. And I’d like it all to slow down just a little.
Something interesting happened when Bill and I started traveling full-time: time slowed down.
Not literally, of course. But it sure felt that way. A week could feel like a month. A month could feel like a year. Bill and I have talked about this many times over the years. Why does that happen?
I think we’ve figured out at least part of it.
Monotony speeds up time.
When we do the same things, in the same places, with the same routines day after day, our minds have fewer markers separating one day from another. Monday looks like Tuesday. Tuesday looks like Wednesday. Before long, the weeks start running together.
It’s almost like looking out the window of a train barreling through the countryside. Eventually everything becomes a blur. And I think that’s what happens to time. It blurs.
But change the scenery and something fascinating happens.
Go somewhere you’ve never been. Take the long way home. Learn something new or meet someone interesting. Sleep somewhere different. Try something that makes you a little uncomfortable. Start a business. Take a trip. Sit around a campfire. Get lost. Create something. Say yes when it would be easier to say no.
Suddenly, your brain starts paying attention again. The days become distinguishable. You remember them. And somehow, time feels bigger.
I think that’s one of the greatest gifts our years of traveling gave Bill and me. We weren’t just seeing America. In a strange way, we were stretching our lives.
We were creating markers everywhere we went: national parks, little towns, new friends, bad roads, beautiful sunsets, campgrounds we’d never visit again and places we couldn’t wait to return to. There was always something around the next bend, and because so much of it was new, we were paying attention.
Maybe that’s the secret.
We can’t actually slow down the clock. But perhaps we can slow down our experience of it.
Break the routine once in a while. Stay curious. Keep learning. Go somewhere you’ve never been. Build something. Do something that scares you a little. Love people well. And most of all, pay attention.
Because when we pay attention, life stops being such a blur.
Time gives us space to love and grow. It creates room for peace and gratitude. And it reminds us that being alive isn’t just about how many years we get. It’s about how much life we put into those years.
So if time feels like it’s moving a little too fast these days, maybe don’t try so hard to hold onto it.
Give it something to remember.
— Britt
