A Path of Time Divided by Subtle Laws of Physics
We naturally believe that we share identical time living on this same planet Earth. After all, the second hand on a clock appears to flow equally for everyone. Yet, when we bring Einstein’s theory of relativity down from the vast, distant cosmos into our everyday lives, this equality subtly begins to fracture.
Even without traveling near the speed of light, variations in gravity create cracks in time. Because time flows more slowly in stronger gravitational fields, time physically flows differently for someone living on the ground floor compared to someone in a high-rise apartment. The time of the high-rise resident ticks at a infinitely faster tempo than that of the person on the ground. Even during the moments we travel rapidly across the globe aboard an airplane, our own time is delayed by a fraction of a second relative to those left behind on the surface. Though we remain oblivious to it, physics has already gifted every being on Earth time moving at its own distinct speed.
The Biological Frame: Eye Resolution Capturing a Single Second
Bringing an even more dramatic fissure into our lives than subtle physical differences is our biological “temporal resolution.” In ecology, the metric that measures how many consecutive scenes (frames) a creature perceives in one second is called the “Critical Flicker Fusion frequency” (CFF). Simply put, it is the frames per second (FPS) with which the brain and sensory organs process the world.
An adult human eye detects roughly 60 frames per second, recognizing the world as smooth, continuous motion. Yet, when we shift our gaze to insects or small animals, the density of the world becomes entirely different. To a fly observing the world at a resolution of roughly 250 to 300 Hz, a human hand reaching out is merely a sluggish landscape approaching in slow motion. Conversely, to a starfish that detects less than 1 frame per second, the universe resembles a rapidly passing time-lapse video. The fly’s one second, the human’s one second, and the starfish’s one second are biologically unique physical lengths altogether.
The Internal Clock Surging Within the Human Brain
What is fascinating is that even among humans, the frame rate of time we perceive constantly shifts throughout our lives—and even in specific moments.
During childhood, when metabolism is vibrant and countless stimuli are taken in, our brain packs in numerous frames per second to densely record the world. This is why a single day in childhood feels endlessly long and slow. On the other hand, as we age, metabolic rates drop, information processing slows, and the number of frames rendered per second decreases. This is why time feels as though it flies like an arrow through those sparsely captured frames.
In split seconds where life feels threatened, this frame rate spikes drastically. Just before a car crash or during a bungee jump, the brain explodes with adrenaline to squeeze out any information necessary for survival. As the visual and sensory frame rate leaps severalfold in an instant, we experience the scene of the accident unfolding right before our eyes stretched out as if in slow motion.
Epilogue
In the end, an “absolute second” is nothing more than an imaginary concept.
My second atop a high-rise building, a fly’s second darting away from a fingertip, a child’s second exploring the world, and a brain’s second trapped in a dire crisis are all unique universes possessing their own density and resolution.
We are each rendering our own frames through the camera of our brain and body, living out a distinct density of time that only we can truly inhabit.
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