Man is that ever true. School just seemed to last forever. I recall, when I was 18 and a senior in high school, I still had this aluminum Raggedy Andy garbage pale from the bedroom set my parents got me when I was 3 or 4. It seemed positively ancient.
When we were children, the summer holidays seemed to last forever, and the wait between Christmases felt like an eternity.
So why is it that when we get older, the time just seems to zip by, with weeks, months, and entire seasons disappearing from a blurred calendar at dizzying speed?
Now I have neckties I've owned for 20 years and still wear.
Ten years ago, or so, a local coffee shop called the Daily Grind was my headquarters. Most of A Line Through the Desert was written there. There was a young kind working behind the counter and asking me for advice. Which seemed weird in itself. Even then I had noticed that time seemed to be speeding up.
I told him, 'Austin, growing older means the acceleration of time, the absence of change and the lowering of expectations.'
I used to tell my students, 'Five years ago you were a completely different person. You know what I was doing five years ago? This.'
Ten years ago I was 33. I was finishing up A Line Through the Desert and writing a bunch of magazine articles on the Roman Republic. Now I'm 43, finishing up Castro's Folly, and finishing up a history book on John J. Pershing.
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