A friend of more than 60 years standing has sent me a thoughtful email from Mexico. It sets me to thinking further about the stage of life in which both of us have taken up residence.

Carlos and I were college classmates, first meeting in 1947 and staying in touch off and on ever since. The occasions when we have been together have always brought me pleasure.

I especially treasure the weekend I spent with him and his family in 1969 when he welcomed me into their home in Mexico City. He and his wife pried me with maraqgitas, ceded their own room to me, and introduced me to their friends ─ a hospitality that taught me the meaning of the Spanish saying: “Mi casa es su casa” (My home is your home).

For Carlos, coming to school in Cambridge had been  a great adventure. As a native Mexican he was confronted with a different culture, language, and values. Unlike me who came from the next town, Carlos met head-on obvious challenges to his own view of the world.

That collegiate period, he writes, lasted equivalently ten times its measurable length. For him, four years in college equaled forty years of living. The experience was so rich that he felt as if he had been there for a very long time.

By contrast, at this stage of life, he says, time at home now moves slowly indeed. It flows by “with hardly a ripple.”

Traveling has the same effect on Carlos as did college. When he visits India for a couple of weeks, for instance, he feels that he has been there for a long time. That happens because his senses are flooded with many new experiences.

Since fewer events happen for him now, time slackens. Even when things do occur, he says, “the stream of my experience is minute compared to what I already know.”  That makes it difficult for new events to speed up time.

Carlos does not let that happen to him. He arranges for himself a schedule that features some achievement. He goes to his office four hours a day; he practices yoga twice a week, plays the violin, and goes to symphony concerts each week.

More strikingly, he goes to his farm, where he takes some of the work upon himself. That means busying himself with the growing of alfalfa and pecans.

My friend has the good fortune of having the means to enjoy access to these pleasures. But he also feels some of the physical problems characteristic of old age. He speaks of “a slow decline in my physical strength. Walking is harder, knees ache; even sitting down may be a chore.”

So, in later life, “the sense of time is a reflection of the number of things that happen, the number of NEW things that you perceive, not what the clock says.”

If this be true, does not that perhaps leave us free to manipulate time to our own advantage? It would seem to give us a blank check to experiment with the rhythm of our lives.

Many of us, however, face severe restraints on such freedom. Because of physical disabilities, we may not have the scope to arrange events to alter the flow of time. We often find ourselves facing situations that rule out filling our days with activities.

If so, maybe that’s a signal to approach the subject of time differently. Instead of trying to control its flow, perhaps we can find value in going with the flow.

The contemplative approach to time has its own virtues, many people find. In later life they may discover a peace of soul unknown to them during the pressure-filled years of their earlier life.

Like so many others, my friend Carlos does not welcome longevity if it’s going to bring with it utter weakness. He does not want to become “too weak to do anything,” like his 102-year-old aunt. That’s why he actually welcomes an announcement from his cardiologist: “Your mitral valve is not closing well enough.”

This heart condition seems likely to ensure that he will not live to an old age that has become “overripe.” For him, it’s a relief to make this discovery.

I draw inspiration from Carlos’s view of his own life. It seems to me altogether sound and fully human. Yes, he has the material advantages to provide himself with choices but he also has the wisdom to make good choices.

I intend to continue playing with his notion about the character of time in later life. His view of it comes close to my own and that gives us both the opportunity, as of now at least, to experiment.

I hope that my friend keeps those electronic messages winging their way across the two thousand miles between us.

Richard Griffin