What
time is it?
Time,
what is it?
It’s amazing the difference word order can make; from a simple spare-no-thought response, to an existential wankfest. Thankfully I’m not trying to answer that particular question, so you can put your emotional jizz rag back where it belongs.
Before
we had tools to measure discrete units of time, it was all pretty
simple stuff – if the sun was up, it was day, if it had set, it was
night. There were of course other methods depending on what you
wanted to know – the phases of the moon, the tracking of the stars,
and the procession of the seasons to name a few; but the thing they
all have in common is change. Time
is change by another name.
12PM
isn’t just lunch time, it’s also the relative positions of the
Sun and Earth (the seasons are the same thing only on a bigger scale). Time is great conceptual tool, it lets us measure and more importantly, categorise, the world around us - two things we really love doing.
Unlike other measurements, our perception of time is easily influenced by our emotional state. If someone appears to be roughly 6’ tall, they will look that way whether you’re bored or having the time of your life. Now, if you happen to be talking to this 6’ fella, and he just so happens to be quite the conversationalist, chances are the encounter is going to be over in the blink of an eye. But, if he’s duller than Theresa May’s lifeless eyes, it can feel like you’re chatting for an eternity, or is more likely the case, being chatted at for an eternity. This is of course time experienced at the level we’re all familiar with, what Richard Dawkins called, 'the middle world'. It’s the perceptual space we inhabit – it’s measuring lengths in centimetres and distances in kilometres, it’s weighing by the ounce and moving by the mile; it’s having a solid grasp on a crowd of 100 people, but not really comprehending the weight of an atom or the distance between planets. We’ve adapted to become good at dealing with sizes in the middle, but anything on the micro- and macro- scales, well, they really become meaningless outside of being very very big or very very small.
Unlike other measurements, our perception of time is easily influenced by our emotional state. If someone appears to be roughly 6’ tall, they will look that way whether you’re bored or having the time of your life. Now, if you happen to be talking to this 6’ fella, and he just so happens to be quite the conversationalist, chances are the encounter is going to be over in the blink of an eye. But, if he’s duller than Theresa May’s lifeless eyes, it can feel like you’re chatting for an eternity, or is more likely the case, being chatted at for an eternity. This is of course time experienced at the level we’re all familiar with, what Richard Dawkins called, 'the middle world'. It’s the perceptual space we inhabit – it’s measuring lengths in centimetres and distances in kilometres, it’s weighing by the ounce and moving by the mile; it’s having a solid grasp on a crowd of 100 people, but not really comprehending the weight of an atom or the distance between planets. We’ve adapted to become good at dealing with sizes in the middle, but anything on the micro- and macro- scales, well, they really become meaningless outside of being very very big or very very small.
Our
perception of time is something else entirely; it’s
a figment of our imagination.
Without getting all Downward
Dog, when it comes to time, the only thing we really have is ‘the
moment’, the second just
gone exists only as ghost in the mind, while the second to come is
phantasm of the future. Our
memories are ghost stories of the past, tales passed on like
a game of Telephone – minor
details changed on reach repetition. Ask two people to recount the
same experience and you’ll get two different version of events.
Our memories are retellings,
but not of the original day in question – they’re a repeat of the
retelling, so when I tell the story of the time I was banned from
appearing on the BBC, I’m actually telling the last version of the
story I told – the real story is gone, vanishing
the instant it moved
from happening to
happened.
It’s
easy to think of memories as being analogous to a file on a computer,
ready to be clicked open at a moment’s notice, but it’s not quite
the same – in computing terms a memory is really a collection of
symbolic links, and in reality it is a story, one that is pulled into
active memory when you’ve been given enough cues to remember it. The story
you’re hearing sets off all sorts of neural connections, until
eventually there’s a connection to a story that you simply must
tell. Oh, that reminds me of the time I...
The
more we tell our stories and share our memories, the stronger they
become, and so the easier they are to recall – there are all sorts of bits
and pieces of a memory floating about our heads at any one time, some
will hide for years before they surface, they’re the stories you
never really tell, never replay in your minds eye, but, ten years
down the line, someone will say something, and like a magician pulling
an 18-wheeler from the hat, you’ll be floored by something you
thought you’d forgotten. Not that we ever really forget, we just don’t
always remember.
How
many times have you recanted a tale only to be told you’re telling
it wrong? It didn’t happen that way! I didn’t say that!
No two people will have the same
version of events – it’s impossible, not only because two people
can never have the same vantage point of the same event (can’t
occupy the same space as someone else), but our vision is a
precellular mix of top-down and bottom-up processing; all of which is
a fancy way of saying your learned experiences play a role in how you
perceive things - just as much as the physical stimuli streaming in
through your eye. How you see and what you remember are two
life-long processes, starting way back before your eyes were even open.
We use assumptions all the time – where shadows fall, how edges
meet, these are short cuts in visual processing, and they’re the
reason why we’re so easily fooled by optical illusions, and continue to be fooled by them despite knowing their true nature. More often
than not the assumptions are right, and the trade off between
accuracy and efficiency is usually worth it. These assumptions are
called heuristics, they’re ‘rules of thumb’ - quick and dirty
brain cheats that allow for rapid data calculation, calculations which may not
always be correct, but may not always matter if it’s wrong.
We use heuristics when we try and imagine the future, we take a frame
of reference and extrapolate. Today and tomorrow and yesterday, all
pretty similar with only small differences between them, but over the
course of years, those tiny deviations can lead to massive change.
The other things that can lead to huge changes are the big life events
– no, not your wedding, or birthday, or graduation – they are
expected, it might feel like a big event, but it’s one we
are aware of, it is planned. The real big events are the unexpected
– the proposal, the letter of acceptance, the unexpected death, the
car accident, the lottery win. Trying to imagine the future is like
trying to forecast the weather, the further from today you venture,
the less sure you are of the results.
And while imagining the future is unreliable, remembering the past is
no better. I can tell you what I was doing five minutes ago, but 5
years ago? Not a chance. You’d have to settle for the vague story
of where I was in life – a location and an aim. The only difference is
those who keep a record of the past – a daily journal, but for the
rest of us, it’s guess work.
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