Basically, How Time Works

On karate, physical therapy, and everything that quietly slips into the past.

This morning, my husband’s physical therapist mentioned he was leaving early to attend his five-year-old daughter’s judo belt ceremony.

Twenty years ago, I practiced Kempo karate. Once upon a time, as the expression goes, I would have jumped right into that conversation.

“You know, I used to...”

The thought crossed my mind.

And then it disappeared.

Not because I’d forgotten.

But because I couldn’t muster the energy to introduce a version of myself that now feels like a stranger.

And, after a quiet and sobering moment, it struck me that almost everything I once believed made me “me” had become “used to.”

That realization became the letter that follows:

Basically, How Time Works

There was a time when I could have filled a room with things I was.

Lawyer
Violin maker
Musician
Cyclist
Dancer
Coach…

One by one,
they have all moved into the past tense.

It occurs to me…
that everything eventually does.

Even breathing.

One day, someone will say,
“She used to be a writer.”

My father once gave me what he considered a profound life lesson —
that everything eventually fades into the rearview window.

I carried those wise words for years.

Then I repeated them to my daughter.

She looked at me and said:

“Mom, you mean basically how time works?”

So— getting back to this morning,

I almost told the physical therapist I used to do karate.

Then I let it go.

Not because I was hiding it.
It just didn’t seem worth opening the door.

If someone had met you twenty years ago, how would you have introduced yourself?
And what would you say today?