Dear Fellow Dreamer,
I was not quick to ride a bike. Months of dragging my bloody knees around at ages eight and nine got me going in a wobbly line. And though I loved it, I remained a cautious rider. It was a time when, in Toronto’s west end, the kids in our suburban neighbourhood—once rolling fields with market farms, and before then, wilds—would hop on our bikes and just go. Down into the ravine along the winding Humber River and up again. Past the little plazas. Through the mostly sidewalk-free streets with the mostly middle-class fifties houses, but for the odd intact and haunted farmhouse.
In my teens, I kept a three-speed CCM Free Spirit I’d bought for thirty bucks from my friend Helen. It was a good size and I didn’t need to go fast, just to go. Was I athletic? Not especially. But I had age on my side, and I swam and played tennis. I danced jazz at a miles-away studio once I was old enough to drive my parents’ car, which I made sure I could do by grade eleven. That was the year I’d switched high schools because the small one I’d gone to, the one I loved, was being shut down. We were a declining-enrollment generation. At the big school, where I never felt at home, I played violin and connected with a cellist, my first boyfriend. Two years older than I, he’d soon graduate to university in another city, and we were wondering what to do. Date on holidays? Stay in touch? Not in love (a slightly confusing predicament), but good friends (for the moment), in shorts and T-shirts we were riding our bikes in the late spring sun, en route from his house to mine.
And I pulled out to cross Prince Edward Drive.
The brown sedan I’d just cut in front of was a surprise, as was the oncoming pickup. Pedalling the centre line between the trajectories of those two vehicles, on a strip of road about twenty-two inches wide, it happened.
Time slowed down.
Have you experienced slow motion?
In that strange and sudden calm, I focused on a few things. Staying upright, pushing the pedals in steady, slow circles—as though each quiet revolution took five whole seconds. Maybe ten. Again, and again. Keeping my balance from the core—though in jazz class, often that same core was unreliable. And I could sense the passing sedan’s hot metal through the tips of the fine raised hairs on my right thigh. Watching the doorhandle drift by—an almost interminable process, nearly grazing my leg—I heard low radio music and voices swearing. The sounds were crisp, like I was inside the car. And I remember thinking it wasn’t logical for them to be cussing at me, since it could throw me off. I blocked them out.
To my left, the approaching truck was silent as a whale.
Then I was moving between them on the narrow median, through a thermal corridor of radiating steel. No veering.
Just a bouquet of time, opening.
Until it closed.
After the vehicles had passed, I glided to the shoulder and braked, turning to wave across the street at my pale boyfriend.
For years, I hardly thought about the event. How I’d been so alert and precise, as though I was being guided, my body animated by something much steadier than I, a presence that knew exactly how to manoeuvre in a crisis. My boyfriend said he’d been sure he was about to watch me die. Did I apologize? Shake my head, give a smile, and shrug? By the time I was home, I’d let the incident go. I’m sure I never told my parents.
Why had I failed to see those vehicles and pulled out? Since I have no memory of entering the road, I’ll never know. Yet I’ll never forget my slow-motion seconds on the line.
About a decade ago, at a spiritual gathering, the speaker, a Vietnam war veteran, asked if anyone had ever come close to death and experienced altered perception. Raising my hand in a room of thirty-or-so people, I looked around. Was I the only one? I sensed the speaker had, too, though he wasn’t saying anything. Someone in the back poked an index finger in the air, folded his arms, and stared at the floor. Then the war vet asked me to share my story. As I did, I felt a shift. It was the first time I realized my memory was worth something—not just to me, but to others.
In preparing to write this piece for you, I did a little research into what happens when time slows down. (See “Sources” below for a list of articles.) As I’d expected, the phenomenon has occurred with many people in moments of extreme danger. I read multiple accounts of hyperclarity in slow motion, for example, during near-misses on highways, in sudden police shoot-outs, and in mountain climbers’ attempts to stop falls. Shifts in time-awareness, accompanied by sharpened focus, are known by various names, including “temporal distortion,” “time expansion experiences,” and “time dilation.” Yet while I’d also expected to learn the brain science behind such events, instead, I discovered that researchers still aren’t sure of what happens. It’s difficult (if not impossible) to simulate the kind of situation that would cause someone to slip into a state of altered perception and enhanced functionality.
Common Factors
During time dilation, fear is missing. Thus, temporal distortion is not likely to be part of a fight-or-flight reaction, though among researchers, that point is still debated. Based on my own experience, as someone well familiar with anxiety, my unusually calm, slow-motion response on the yellow line didn’t feel like a fight-or-flight moment. Not at all. What occurred felt more like a flow state—a hyperalert kind of trance. Which is another thing many people have described. In her Psychology Today article, “The Brain on Slowed-Down Time,” Lisa Broderick writes this:
“Reports of slowed-down time are closer to what some call ‘flow’ or ‘the zone,’ characterized by deep concentration, highly efficient performance, emotional buoyancy, a heightened sense of mastery, a lack of self-consciousness, and even self-transcendence. This suggests there’s more to the story of slowed-down time than biology. Instead, exploring a possible intersection between psychology (not biology) and physics (not classical, but quantum) may be the place to start.”
Surprise is another universal factor triggering time dilation. And with surprise, an awareness that the situation is life-threatening. According to a decades-long University of Iowa study of people who have come close to death, of the approximately 70 percent who experienced temporal distortion, Broderick reports, “…the speed of subjects’ thinking increased to as much as 100 times the normal rate… and because time seemed so expanded, people were able to respond to lightning-fast events with precision and intention.” In an earlier, related article, Senior Lecturer in Psychology at Leeds Beckett University, Steve Taylor, concurs: “Time expansion allowed complex series of thoughts and actions that would have been impossible if time had been passing at a normal speed.”
In his work, Taylor also draws attention to a common observation that during time dilation “a sense of separation fades… the boundary between us and the world softens.” My memories of “touching” the car’s warm metal, and of hearing the people inside it swearing, as though they were next to my ear, illustrate that softening of ordinarily perceived borders. Yet although my senses were heightened, I knew my life depended on keeping those few required inches of space between my body and the passing vehicles.
A Few More Thoughts
I believe life’s mysteries can awaken in us a sense of wonder. In that spirit, I often tell stories that, at the very least, lead to questions. What are we capable of in sudden and extreme situations of threat? And what really happens when time slows down? Is it a response in the brain that scientists haven’t yet identified? Are we being guided? Both?
Do you have your own story of altered perception in the face of danger? If so, I hope you’ll share it.
Sources
“Time slows down during accidents,” by Valtteri Arstila, Frontiers in Psychology, June 26, 2012
“The Brain on Slowed-Down Time,” by Lisa Broderick, Psychology Today, October 9, 2021
“Time expansion experiences: why time slows down in altered states of consciousness,” by Steve Taylor, The Conversation, December 31, 2024
“The Matrix Effect: When Time Slows Down,” by Marc Wittmann, Ph.D., Psychology Today, July 9, 2017
Quote of the Week
“I believe we are free, within limits, and yet there is an unseen hand, a guiding angel, that somehow, like a submerged propeller, drives us on.”
—Rabindranath Tagore
Video of the Week
For the next brief while, I’m taking a break from posting videos. Because I received messages that last week’s video was helpful, and in case you haven’t seen it, I’ve included it for you here.
News & What’s Ahead
Now, more than ever, the world needs your gifts. This is no time to give up on your dream.
If you’re interested in exploring transformational coaching to help you clarify and manifest your vision, contact me. Strengthening your own calm centre in the face of exterior storms is one of the many additional benefits of working with an experienced coach. With a decade of professional mentoring behind me, and over thirty years of teaching, I love helping individuals succeed in ways that are authentic and fulfilling.
For paid subscribers, the Wonders Within Talk Series is in place (four videos)—an immediately accessible path, loaded with principles and tools to help you start building your dream today. If you’ve done transformational work with me before, you’ll find this a powerful refresher.
Soon I’ll also be providing paid subscribers with short monthly audios ranging from uplifting readings to guided visualizations, and more.
Between now and the end of April, as I prepare my novel River of Dreams for final submission to its publisher, I’ll be sending newsletters on a bi-weekly basis. Look for my next one, in many ways part two of “Unseen Hand,” on Friday, February 28th.
Happy Valentine’s Day!
With love,
Robin
Years ago I was walking down Yonge St., crossing an intersection with a quiet side street, when I suddenly found myself stumbling onto the opposite curb, gasping for breath. Only then did I "see," like a slow motion film playing in my head, the events of the previous few seconds: a truck turning left off Yonge and speeding towards me (I had right of way!), and me running to get out of the way. I had acted with no conscious awareness, and saw what happened after the fact. Very strange!
I’ll never forget it … ever. It was 15 or so years ago. My daughter, Molly, and I standing holding our skateboards at the top of the most innocent, or so it seemed, of hills. Should we? Shouldn’t we? Yes, let’s do it.
Mistake! I was soon speeding down the hill, but, being a rank novice, had no idea how to stop myself. The wheels were wobbling/shimmying. I knew with certainty that I had to either stay calm and in control or fall and suffer serious injury. It was, indeed, only after what felt like an eternity that I managed to reach the bottom safely, as did Molly.