Is it Time or a Ticking Bomb?

Lately, time has felt like a relentless march. Each moment is a precious commodity I fear losing. Immersed in the relentless pace of my late twenties, I've traded weekends for work, and every spare hour is dedicated to endless growth and illusory goals. My to-do list is a monstrous backlog, and the constant pressure to achieve is suffocating. It's as if a ticking time bomb resides within me, propelling me forward. Ironically, the more I rush, the less I seem to retain. That is my problem! I seem to remember less about how I am spending my days. The best memories that form a vivid tapestry are those of my college life, etched deeply in my mind. In stark contrast, the years since graduation have slipped by unnoticed, leaving behind a hazy blur. Time seemed to crawl slowly during my college days, but now it's a relentless force, ticking away at an alarming pace.

Piyush suggests that our perception of time slowing down during our late teens and early twenties is linked to peak brain capacity. He believes we form more vivid and enduring memories during this period, making time seem to pass more slowly. Conversely, as we age and our memory function changes, time may feel like it accelerates due to a decrease in memorable experiences.

That is a fair and plausible explanation to which I agree. However, that may not be complete. It's possible that I have grown accustomed to living in the present without dwelling on the past or worrying about the future. I focus on what I need to accomplish today. I wake up at 6, go to work by 7:30, work for Google until 3, work on my pet projects until 6, spend an hour at the gym, come back home by 8, practice music, and then sleep by 10. I follow this routine religiously every day. The progress I've made is very slow, though, and it will probably take several years to reap the benefits. I can't even form any expectations for them. I rarely see my friends or talk to anyone in my family. It's not easy, but this has become a habit for me. I don't want to waste even a second. I overload myself with several tasks simultaneously. I rarely cook, only when it is absolutely necessary. I do travel. But I travel to learn and explore. I push myself hard even on vacations. I have hardly had a vacation where I was carefree enough to relax and chill out.

I think, to a large extent, this monotony of life brought on by a disciplined routine contributes to time flying away. I don't count my days. In one moment, it's Monday, in the next moment, it's Saturday. I realize it only when I don't find my colleagues next to me at work. I think creating memories requires experiences worthy of recollection. Perhaps I've lacked such moments. Reflecting on the past five years, major life events stand out: the pandemic disrupted my life, relocating to the US distanced me from home, a severe car accident occurred, heartbreak ensued, a recession impacted the economy, and I was unable to attend Stanford University. That's it! I think I haven't had a happy memory that I would find worth cherishing. I'm not saying good things haven't happened—the best was resting my head on someone special's arm and experiencing the most peaceful sleep of my life. That was the moment when life decided to give me shade from the intense heat of the sun. But all the peaceful experiences have been overshadowed by many things falling out of control, forcing me to fight against life to keep what doesn't belong to me.

I yearn for a return to the carefree days of childhood, a time when worries were distant and the world was filled with endless possibilities. I long for mornings where waking up is a simple act of rejuvenation without the undercurrent of loss. I crave the solitude of a kitchen and the ultimate reward of savoring a homemade meal. I fantasize about surrendering to the comfort of a loved one's embrace, finding solace in their presence. To feel utterly lost in another's arms, head resting on a sanctuary of peace, is a dream I hold dear, only if the supreme considers me worthy of it. I wish to shed the heavy cloak of responsibilities and reconnect with my authentic self. To silence the external noise and listen to the whispers of my soul would be a liberation. Ultimately, I ponder life's grand finale; acknowledging triumphs, treasuring the lessons from failures, assuring myself of another opportunity tomorrow, and offering closure to the journey.

Reminds me of Stop this Train by John Mayer and Safar by Arijit Singh.