What shape is time?

How visualising time differently could transform your future

We can’t see time. We can’t touch it with our fingertips or hear its footsteps. Yet, we know it’s there because we see its effects: change, growth, decay.

To make sense of invisible things, abstract concepts like time, we add structure to them with metaphors – familiar words, common shapes. I often think of it like throwing a sheet over a ghost in a cartoon. By draping it in something we recognise, time becomes a little less mysterious, a little less scary.

Many of the metaphors we reach for to talk about time are spatial – shapes, distances, places, journeys. Space becomes a bridge to understanding time. Think of the phrases, “Christmas will soon be here,” “the afternoon flew by,” “your exam is right around the corner,” or “leave those sad memories behind.”

These expressions map time onto space, offering a framework for something we can’t directly see or touch. Studies suggest that this isn’t just a linguistic habit—it actually influences how we think about time, affecting our perception and even our actions.

I’ve always been fascinated by the words, metaphors and shapes we pick and choose to describe time, and how personal these expressions can be. To show you what I mean, picture the year in your mind. Trace it with your finger in the air, or quickly sketch it on paper. What does it look like? What shape is it?

You might be surprised at how varied these mental maps of the year can be. Some see a calendar, a grid, others imagine a circle, a line – sometimes straight, sometimes wavy. My year looks like a racetrack with different ribbons of colour laced throughout. January starts in the top right; Spring races down the right-hand side in mossy green, Summer stretches along the bottom, Autumn huddles to the left, and Winter settles at the top in a deep, velvety purple.

For some, time isn’t just a mental image – it’s a physical presence. A few people experience what researchers call calendar synesthesia, where the year appears in 3D space, almost like a tangible object. Time for them is visceral, as much a part of their surroundings as a piece of furniture.

Although our mental calendars may vary from person to person, most languages have metaphors that talk of time in terms of space. But the shape of how that time moves, from past to present to the future, points to some surprising differences.

In English, we often speak of time as moving horizontally – forward and backward. In Mandarin, time can flow vertically, with the past above and the future below. The Aymara people of the Andes place the future behind and the past ahead. It’s a twist on what you and I may think is intuitive, but think about it and it starts to makes sense—after all, we can “see” the past, we know what happened. We can’t say the same for the future.

These differences suggest that our perception of time might be malleable, shaped by language and culture rather than wholly innate. And here’s where things get fascinating: If the shapes and words we use to describe time can influence how we think about it, could we shift to different words and shapes to alter our thinking? Could we dismantle metaphors that feel restrictive and reshape them into something more expansive? Remodel mental “prisons” into castles?

I ask this partly for myself. I wonder if my racetrack vision of the year, with its relentless pace, keeps me hurtling through my days without rest. Could I unfurl this track, reshaping it into something gentler – maybe a spiral, softly twisting upwards rather than racing toward the finish, only to start the same race track on the same plain all over again in a matter of months?

This question resonates on a larger scale, too. Can language shape our relationship with time in ways that will benefit us? For example, some studies suggest that speakers of languages with less distinction between present and future may act more responsibly about long-term issues, like climate change, saving money, and making positive decisions about their health. The idea is that when the future feels less separate from the present, it might be easier to prioritise it.

This idea – that language shapes experience – is beautifully explored in the film Arrival, based on Ted Chiang’s Story of Your Life, which I highly recommend. The protagonist, Louise, learns an alien language that’s structured in circles. As she masters it, she begins to perceive time in a non-linear way, just like the aliens do. While Arrival is science fiction, this concept draws on real linguistic theories. The Sapir-Whorf hypothesis proposes that language can shape thought, influencing our experience of reality.

This is a complex and contentious idea. Many experts now argue that language doesn’t determine our thoughts – but it can influence them. With that in mind, is it possible to shift our mental blueprints? Are these shapes ingrained or evolving?

Studies have shown that bilingual English-Mandarin speakers, can conceptualise time in multiple ways – horizontally and vertically – demonstrating that it’s possible to adapt to different mental models. Other studies have found that by simply reversing the flow of language, perceptions about the way time flows can be altered too – like diverting the course of a river. 

The research is still young, and while language is only one factor shaping our perception, knowing that our mental structures might be malleable is comforting to me. It suggests that our future isn’t entirely bound by present perceptions.

The notion that we could adjust our mental maps and reshape our understanding of time – which could then impact our thinking and our behaviour – opens a door to a more intentional future. There’s a common belief that time, and our influence over it, is fixed – inevitable and, often, inevitably bad. But perhaps, if we start by updating these mental maps bit by bit, we can shape a future that feels more spacious and hopeful.