Out of time

When I remember what my life was like 10 years ago, when I was beginning my training as a psychiatrist, the first things I miss aren't about age, fewer white hairs, or the blessed absence of a belly—no, there's a more subtle difference. Every memory of those years is filled with a sense of a paced leisure, a slower flux of events, deeper breaths loosely connected one to another—in other words, enough time.

What happened to me after that …