Time is my Medusa. It makes any thought I had turn to stone. Makes something I experienced into a memory. Which means that no matter what I managed to uncover along the way, it can be turned to stone of if I allow it. If I sink into time and worry about the future, I’ll lose my past. I thought that’s what I wanted but I was mistaken. In the process of attempting to forget my past, I began to forget how I got here. The things I kept myself doing. The lessons I learned about myself. About the world. Lessons I thought surely would stay with me for the remainder of my life. Then they turned to stone. I didn’t even notice it. The only reason I found out was because I reacted to something the way I used to react. Which unlocked a memory. That memory reminded me that I already did this before. When I tried to find the answer it was locked. I had to uncover it again. Time hid it from me.
It’s easy to forget that the things we swore would never leave us—our insights, our breakthroughs, our truths—are not immune to time’s erosion. Time doesn’t always take them forcefully. It waits for you to stop revisiting them. That’s when they start to slip. You don’t even realize they’ve faded until you find yourself reacting like someone you used to be, someone you thought you left behind. And that’s when it clicks—some part of your growth got frozen, turned to stone by the very thing you stopped paying attention to.
The memory doesn’t die, it just gets buried. Beneath routines, beneath distractions, beneath all the forward-facing plans you thought were more important. Time lets you forget that your wisdom has to be kept alive by practice. It’s not enough to have lived something once—it has to live through you now. It’s not just about learning something powerful. It’s about living like you remember it. Like it still matters.
This realization isn’t defeat. It’s a chance. A chance to uncover what you already knew, and carry it back into the present. Not as nostalgia, but as a guide. You’re not starting over. You’re remembering who you were when you knew better—and dragging that version back into today. Time can turn things to stone, yes. But it can also reveal buried treasure, if you’re willing to dig.
