The elastic thread of Time: Where Physics, Psychology, and Philosophy meet

Raju Korti
I still remember reading a small book in which Einstein tried to explain the concept of time to ordinary people. His example was charmingly human: sit with your beloved in a serene garden, trading sweet nothings, and hours will seem like minutes. Endure a boring lecture, and minutes will seem like hours. “That’s what I mean when I say time is not absolute,” he wrote. “It is relative.” That little anecdote stayed with me because it bridged cold scientific theory and warm human experience in one elegant stroke.

In the last five years, I have noticed something curious. My life, once packed with the demands of full-time work, has eased into a quieter rhythm. By logic, with fewer urgent tasks, each day should feel long, even languid. Yet, paradoxically, time feels as though it is slipping by faster than ever. The seconds and minutes still behave, but the months and years seem to have taken on wings. It made me wonder -- was this merely nostalgia’s trick, or was there a deeper interplay at work?

(Wikipedia representational grab)

I suspect this is where physics, psychology, and philosophy converge into a single, intriguing algorithm. From a physicist’s standpoint, Einstein proved that time is not a fixed universal constant. Special relativity tells us that the flow of time depends on speed and perspective; general relativity adds that gravity bends it further. Yet, in everyday life, we are not orbiting black holes or zipping at near-light speed. And still, time distorts -- sometimes expanding, sometimes contracting -- in ways science alone doesn’t explain.

Psychology fills in the gaps. Our brains don’t measure time in clock units but in memory units. Childhood summers felt endless because everything was new. Our neural recorders worked overtime, packing in vivid details. As adults, routine strips away novelty, and the brain logs fewer highlights, leaving the years feeling compressed. Emotional engagement also shapes our time sense: awe, love, fear, and deep focus imprint themselves in slow-motion, while distraction and detachment let days evaporate unnoticed.

Then comes philosophy -- the way we choose to interpret these distortions. Thinkers from William James to John Keats have reminded us that life is not measured merely by its duration, but by its intensity and awareness. Keats spoke of “moments big as years,” and James observed that the more details we notice, the longer life seems. In other words, time’s length is not given – it is made.

Without ever formally meditating, I have instinctively adopted some tactics to slow my internal clock: seeking novelty, lingering in conversations, revisiting joyful memories, and disengaging from the numbing scroll of digital feeds. Neuroscientists would say I am increasing “memory density” and attention -- what I would call, simply, “living in bigger moments.

”Physics assures us that time will continue its relentless march. But psychology whispers that we can bend its perception, and philosophy challenges us to fill its spaces meaningfully. Somewhere between Einstein’s garden romance and the neuroscientist’s memory map lies an unspoken truth: while we can’t stop time, we can choose how much of it we truly inhabit.

And so, time becomes less of a ticking metronome and more of an elastic thread --sometimes taut, sometimes slack -- woven through our days by the loom of attention, memory, and meaning. We can’t hold it still, but we can embroider it with moments so rich that they outweigh entire seasons. In the end, it isn’t the hours that make a life, but the life we pour into each hour.

I hope the passing years have metamorphosed me into a psychologist of sorts!