I have found that I get used to things. We lived on the edge of the Gulf of Mexico for a month and the view was attention-getting. The sky changed, the surface of the waves changed, the Gulf was always changing. Then, the following year, the very same view was hardly noticeable. I never consciously decided it was less gripping. I never tried to grasp the details of the view so that I would stare at it less. Some part of my mind or brain or eyes or all or something else got used to the view. I tried to get excited about it but it was just deep water.
I think hummingbirds are fascinating little things. But the vine by our window has valuable and delicious flowers on it and the little birds are there quite often. Over time, the thrill of a visit, right up at the window, less than an inch from my face, has dropped. Oh yeah, another hummingbird.
We repaint a room and it looks great. Six months later, I don't see the paint job. I'm unaware of it. It didn't change. I did.
Computers push me further along the trail of recency. Most of my lists (email, file use, etc.) tend to be left in order by time, with the newest first. When I start a diary, I begin at the top of page 1. The most recent entry is at some point in the book. But electronic gear allows me to see the latest breaking news first while yesterday fades from my memory.
Just like a jolt of caffeine which becomes less and less powerful with repeats, everything I do becomes part of my expectations and what I am used to.
