That sentence isn't in the most recent emails. I took it out precisely because it's no longer true. It was in the rejection email we sent the first summer, and as often happens with text you rarely look at, it stayed around after it had become false.
And by building, I meant two years to launch. There's a startup we funded two years ago that's launching in late spring or early summer.
It still doesn't make sense. You say two years ago you had this max-timeframe criteria; but there's a startup you funded two years ago that has yet to launch. Well, you can't use them as an example of your foresight if they accidentally slipped through your filter, or if they accidentally ended up taking much longer than expected. Fo' shizzle, G.
It's kind of amusing the rejectees not only got a form letter, but a recycled one, which wasn't even accurate!
Probably not. I turned 40 last month. I find that I'm much less likely to write the wrong year on my checks than I was 10 years ago. When you're younger, what year it is seems permanent, hard to change. Later you're no more likely to forget what year it is than you are to forget what month it is.
Heck, I'm only 24 and I was just noticing that the other day. I remember when I was in second grade, and the year switched, I put the wrong year for months. Now the turning of a year just doesn't seem that momentous anymore.
I wonder why time seems to accelerate as we age. Is it because we are more busy, and hence spend less time being bored? Or is it somehow related to the fact that any given year's memories are an ever shrinking percentage of my overall memory store? If I were rich I would study people's perception of time, because it seems so non-linear.
I think it's largely the latter. When you have fewer memories, everything is newer, so each moment is more vivid. As time seems to slow when we have adrenaline rushes, the same with vivid experiences.
And by building, I meant two years to launch. There's a startup we funded two years ago that's launching in late spring or early summer.