Timely Manner

Nic Jovanovich
6 days ago
3 min read

Time Theory, Relativity, and the Nature Effect

The experience of time while drifting the river is almost incomparable.

Sometimes I swear there's a midlife crisis lurking just off my peripheral vision. Not the corny convertible-and-leather-jacket kind. But the quiet existential type that asks the uncomfortable questions right as you’re trying to sip your morning coffee and not spiral:

“Is time speeding up… or am I just now noticing?”

Now well into my 40's, I see that growing older isn’t only about adding years. It’s about becoming aware. Aware of time. Aware of pace. Aware of the distance between who you were and who you’re becoming and the tension of the in-between.

Modern culture pitches solutions like products: biohacking, supplements promising extra decades, blue-light glasses, IVs full of vitamins, cold plunges, journaling rituals, breathwork routines, calendar systems, and advice like “add this to slow aging” and “do that to be 120 and still hiking mountains.”

And sure, some of it works. Doing things better works. Intentionality works. But there's another lever no tech can imitate:

Presence.

Tim Ferriss often postulates time dilation: how novelty increases the “frame rate” of life. Experiencing the wilderness and joy expands the perception and richness of time experience.

Time stretches with attention and collapses with routine. Autopilot steals the experience of time from us.

Einsteinian thought also says that an object that moves experiences time at a slower rate than one that is stationary. Relativity and all. I argue that if you're sitting in your cubicle, noticing every second tick away, you're definitely experiencing time at a different rate than someone who is hiking a trail or drifting down the Madison.

Drive into Montana and suddenly the clock begins to lose its almightiness. Stand in the shadow of an Alaskan range and feel the expansiveness overtake your to-do list. You look across a horizon big enough to swallow your worries whole and think:

This is what time is supposed to feel like.

This is definitely what time experience should feel like if you ask me!

A river doesn’t rush. It moves with certainty. With purpose. It knows where it’s going, and it isn’t afraid to take its time getting there.

Drifting downstream, rod in hand, water slapping hull…you feel your nervous system come home to itself. Your thoughts uncoil. Your senses sharpen, not in urgency, but in reverence.

That’s what awe does.

Johns Hopkins calls it a neurological reset or a widening of perception, a quieting of ego, a slowing of time.

I call it coming back to self.

Sometimes the most productive thing you can do is drop your shoulders, breathe, and notice how light dances off moving water. It's not retreat. It's remembering.

Because time doesn’t speed up as we age. Routine compresses it. A head full of to-dos overtakes it. Autopilot steals it. Screens flatten it. Nature returns it.

It’s humbling, really, how easily life slips by when we forget to look up. And how quickly it expands when we do.

Maybe “mid-life crisis” isn’t a crisis at all. Maybe it’s a midlife awakening. An invitation to pay attention again.

Go to the river.

Get in the mountains.

Walk a stretch of beach without another building or human in sight.

If you can slip a boat into the current and lose track of hours, do it.

And if life won’t let you today? That's fine. We're all there sometimes. But step outside. Breathe slowly. Go for a walk, feel the ground underfoot. Connect to the natural world again.

While the passage of the days might be inevitable, the clock is man-made. And presence...that’s the closest thing to true life-extension that we get.