As I - as all of us, I assume - accelerate wildly towards the inevitable, I find myself trying to slow my progress. I have generally done this through music.
Through studying an instrument, I gain a much more meaningful sense of time passing than by checking days off a calendar, or waiting for the next episode in some (critically acclaimed but incomprehensibly long) television drama. I can say to myself with a great degree of certainty that I am more able to play a particular piece, say, than I was... before. How long before is irrelevant. Entropy has been temporarily halted. I have imparted a positive spin to the arrow of time.
The shakuhachi is especially interesting with regards to the flow of time. Many of the traditional zen pieces - the Koten Honkyoku - are measured not in beats and bars, but in breaths. While there are long notes and short notes, there are no rigidly-defined divisions of time into crotchets and quavers and so forth. A breath could be a complex phrase, or a single note. Every breath is different, every phrase is different. Every space between two breaths is different. It's impossible to play the same piece twice.
I saw the great player Riley Lee perform, not long after I'd started studying the shakuhachi. I was astonished at his control. I watched as he played the piece's final long tone, the timbre steadily evolving as the sound faded away, stretching seemingly into infinity. It was mesmerising. For a while, the clocks stopped.