January 8, 2026

At some point in adulthood, often without warning, people begin to notice something unsettling: time no longer feels the way it used to. Years seem to pass more quickly than they once did. Holidays arrive sooner than expected. The end of the year appears on the calendar almost abruptly, as if someone has quietly accelerated the clock when we weren’t looking.

Most people can remember a time when summers felt endless and a single school year seemed to stretch on forever. Now, entire years seem to compress into a handful of memorable moments, and December often arrives with a sense of mild disbelief. How can it be the end of the year already?

This experience is nearly universal, and it turns out there are good reasons for it—none of them particularly alarming, and all of them inherently human. One of the simplest explanations is mathematical. When you are ten years old, one year represents a full tenth of your life. When you are fifty, it represents just one fiftieth. Each passing year becomes a smaller fraction of your lived experience, so it carries less psychological weight. The brain measures time not in absolute units, but in proportion to what has already come before. As life lengthens, each new slice feels thinner.

But math alone doesn’t fully explain why time feels faster, especially in retrospect. Memory plays an even larger role. Our sense of time is shaped less by clocks and calendars than by how many distinct memories we form. Childhood and early adulthood are filled with firsts: a first job, a first apartment, a first serious relationship, a first major failure, a first major success. Each experience is new, and novelty leaves strong mental markers. When we look back, those years feel expansive because they were packed with meaningful memories.

As we age, life often becomes more predictable. We settle into routines. We drive the same roads to work, shop at the same stores, and follow familiar schedules. Days can be full—sometimes overwhelmingly so—but they are less distinct from one another. When the brain reviews a year filled with repetition, it finds fewer highlights to anchor memory, and the whole period seems to collapse. The year didn’t actually move faster; it simply left fewer footprints behind.

This is why time can feel slow while it’s happening but fast when you look back. A long meeting can feel endless in the moment, yet barely register when you think about the year as a whole. Routine compresses memory. The end of the year intensifies this effect. December naturally pushes us into reflection, prompting us to review what happened, what didn’t, what changed, and what stayed the same. Because memory favors milestones over ordinary days, entire months can blur together. The result is that familiar feeling: the year didn’t just pass—it vanished.

There’s also something about midlife and later adult-hood that sharpens this sensation. As responsibilities grow—careers, families, finances, health decisions—attention becomes fragmented. Psychologists have long noted that attention is central to time perception. When attention is divided, time slips by unnoticed. Days are busy, but reflection is scarce, and without reflection, time leaves little trace.

Even biology may play a role. Some research suggests that the brain’s internal timing mechanisms change slightly with age, recording fewer perceptual “ticks” per unit of time. The difference is subtle, but over years it can contribute to the feeling that time is accelerating. Importantly, this isn’t a sign that something is wrong—it’s a normal part of aging.

For many people, this shift in time perception be-comes especially noticeable as retirement moves from an abstract idea to a concrete date. The years between “I should think about retirement” and “I’m retired” often feel startlingly short in hindsight. That’s not poor planning—it’s human psychology. When time feels plentiful, planning feels optional. When time feels scarce, planning suddenly feels urgent.

Interestingly, time perception can shift again after retirement. Some retirees report that months blur together without the familiar markers of quarters, deadlines, and work calendars. Others experience the opposite—that time expands once novelty returns through travel, hobbies, learning, or new routines. The common thread isn’t age, but engagement.

One of the more nuanced lessons in all of this is that time doesn’t just pass; it responds to how we live. Novelty stretches it. Routine compresses it. Attention deepens it. Distraction thins it. That insight has relevance beyond psychology. In investing, we often say that time is our most valuable asset. Psychologically, it may also be the most misunderstood. Recognizing how time feels different at various stages of life can encourage a more intentional approach—not just to saving and planning, but to how we structure our days and years.

Rather than something to worry about, the feeling that time is moving faster can be a quiet source of clarity. It reminds us that time is valuable precisely because it no longer feels endless. In investing, that awareness often leads to better decisions: clearer priorities, more discipline, and a greater appreciation for long-term thinking. Just as good portfolios are built patiently over many years, meaningful lives are shaped by small, consistent choices made over time. When years seem to pass more quickly, it isn’t a loss, it’s a signal to be intentional, to plan thoughtfully, and to make sure the future we’re investing in is one we’re genuinely excited to arrive at.

The article above is an excerpt from the Q3 Quarterly Market Commentary. Here is a link to the most recent issue. Complete the form below if you would like to get this emailed to you each quarter.