Alas, a reprieve. Thanks to the Jewish holidays, which were about to commence, the prior day’s trip to Mysteries of Science would be the last for a month. Not that I’m in any way exasperated by these status updates on my extracurriculars, but I am sooooo totes exapserated by these status updates on my extracurriculars!
See how I illustrated the concept of waiting for an event in the future by depicting myself next to a calendar? On a scale of 1 to literal, that’s pretty much … literal. But to a young kid, a month is a loooooonngg time. How long? Over six months! It’s not dog years - it’s “effective age,” a concept I encountered several weeks ago that explains why time seems to speed up as one ages.
In September of 1992, I’d been alive for just over 78 months, and thus, the 33 days that loomed before the next Mysteries of Science class represented about 1.3% of the entire time I’d been alive. Doesn’t sound like a lot, until you consider that a 33-day wait for something today, to 24.5-year-old me, only represents .3% of the time I’ve spent on earth. A month felt more than four times longer to me than it does right now. And if I’m lucky enough to live until I’m 80, one marginal month will feel like a mere three days to a six- year-old.
Remember when the weeks seemed interminable instead of fleeting? When birthdays came not bunches, but only after inexorable countdowns? Remember staring at the little hand on the clock, wondering why it never seemed to move?