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.