While laying on a heat pack at physical therapy this morning, I found myself listening in on all the many conversations taking place between therapists and their patients. One lady was born in Italy and speaks a family dialect that is almost gone. Two of the guys were commiserating that the Spurs got lucky last night and it just wasn't fair. I picked up two recommendations for book club and learned about a sister who is a flight attendant and cursed with passengers having medical emergencies in flight.

The last time I needed physical therapy was probably 15 years ago. Back then, I screeched in a couple of minutes late for my appointments and watched the clock ticking off all the things remaining to do that day. I doubt that the conversations around me were any less interesting but I never heard them. How we measure time, pass time, make time and run out of time sure fluctuates at times. When there were babies in the house, time was measured in feedings and naps. When I had the big career, time was precisely measured by productivity markers. Last night I noticed that I now measure a week when my pill case runs out and has to be refilled again. Yoga has taught me that time is in the breath. The past and the future are not time. Only the present moment is time. I really understood that this morning as I lay in the moment and received some nice stories while I healed.

I received a journal for Christmas entitled, " Mom's One Line a Day," a five year memory book. Needless to say, the first few weeks the entries filled in the pages themselves. Then there was a one or two day gap and then a week or two. After sitting down today to catch up the entries, I realized that not filling in the missing days wasn't a failure. Revisiting the calendar and recalling those days was, in fact, a gift. For example, while reflecting back to March 7th and my son's trip to the dentist, I was touched by the observations I had about him as he soldiered through a very long visit in the chair which included xrays (gag reflex), a lecture from the dentist to mom about the enamel on molar number 5, cleaning and then a filling. What I realized by looking back to the events of March 7th are that my son is becoming a more mature young man. He didn't show fear or remorse at the dentist's office and I may not have seen that growth in him if I didn't have a few weeks upon which to reflect.

Reflection is not a gift I have much experience with anyway. I live in the moment, frantic moment to moment actually. My gut leads the way pretty persuasively and I don't cotton much to regrets. What I am seeing a glimmer of is that reflection is a lovely window of insight that can be enjoyed any time after something occurs. It doesn't have a goal or a measurement. Reflection is the clear, pure view of something that provides a glimpse into one line a day for me.