When Did Time Start Running So Fast? I Didn’t Even Notice…

Lately, I’ve been feeling something heavy in my chest—something I couldn’t put into words at first. It wasn’t exactly sadness. It wasn’t fear either. It was something softer, something quieter…
A realization.

Time is moving too fast. And I didn’t even realize it until it was already gone.

One day, I just looked around and felt the weight of it: the days slipping past, the plans I still hadn’t started, the people I meant to call, the moments I intended to savour but rushed through instead. It all hit me at once.

The Strange Feeling of Looking Back

Isn’t it strange how we live our lives always waiting for “later”?
“I’ll do it later.”
“I’ll call them later.”
“I’ll take care of myself later.”
Later, later, later…

And then suddenly—later is gone.

I look back, and whole months feel like a weekend. Whole years feel like a long, blurry week. Sometimes I wonder how many beautiful moments I walked past without even looking.

It hurts in a soft, quiet way.

The Days That Blend Together

It’s frightening how easy it is to lose track of time when every day looks the same. Wake up. Rush. Work. Stress. Repeat. The routine becomes a tunnel you walk through without noticing the walls, without seeing the small details.

And that’s how time slips away—not loudly, but silently, peacefully, almost politely.

But silence can be cruel too.

The Moments I Didn’t Notice

I think about all the little moments I didn’t give attention to—sunsets I glanced at for a second, smiles I didn’t fully appreciate, conversations I cut short, days I spent worrying instead of living.

Life gives us so many gentle moments, and I realize now that I missed so many of them because I was constantly looking forward instead of looking around.

And it breaks my heart that I didn’t understand their value at the time.

Growing Up Means Feeling Time Differently

As we grow older, something shifts. Time doesn’t just pass—it rushes. When we were younger, a year felt endless. Now? It feels like a page in a book we barely had time to read.

Maybe this is what growing up truly is: not just learning responsibility, but learning how fragile time is.

We begin to understand that nothing lasts forever—not the people we love, not the phases we live through, not even the version of ourselves we are right now.

The Guilt We Carry

Sometimes I feel guilty.
Guilty for wasting time.
Guilty for not being present.
Guilty for letting days pass by untouched.

But guilt doesn’t give time back.
It just adds weight to the time that’s still in our hands.

So I’m trying—not perfectly, but honestly—to forgive myself.

Learning to Be Here, Now

I’m learning to slow down in small, clumsy ways:

• Noticing the sound of my own breathing in the morning

• Taking in the warmth of sunlight instead of rushing past it

• Listening—truly listening—when someone talks

• Putting my phone down during moments that matter

• Allowing myself to feel things fully, without fear or hurry

These little practices don’t stop time, but they help me meet it face-to-face instead of letting it run past me.

Time Won’t Stop—But We Can Start Living

We can’t catch time.
We can’t negotiate with it.
We can’t ask it to slow down just because our hearts need a moment.

But we can live differently.

We can open our eyes wider.
We can hold moments longer.
We can love the people around us harder.
We can show up—fully, honestly—for our own lives.

Because in the end, it’s not about stopping time.
It’s about noticing life before it passes.

A Promise to Myself

So here’s the promise I’m making:

I will try to be present.
I will try to appreciate the moment I’m in.
I will try to stop living only for “later” and start living for “now.”

Because time is precious—terrifyingly precious—and I don’t want to wake up one day and realize I missed the parts that mattered.

Not again.