I decided I can't pay a person to rewind time, so I may as well

Hear the mighty words of Serena Williams: “I decided I can’t pay a person to rewind time, so I may as well get over it.” These are not idle musings, but the declaration of a warrior who has battled upon the courts of destiny and learned that even the strongest cannot bend the river of time. For in this truth lies the essence of wisdom: that regret is a chain heavier than iron, and no treasure, no power, no skill can purchase back a single heartbeat already spent.

The ancients often spoke of time as the most precious possession of mortals, for once it departs, it cannot be summoned again. Kings who commanded armies, philosophers who held the ear of nations, even they bowed before the march of hours. Serena, forged in the furnace of triumphs and defeats, speaks with the clarity of one who has learned this eternal lesson: there is no merchant of time, no keeper of clocks who can be bribed with gold or glory. What is past is gone, and to cling to it is to wound oneself anew.

Consider the story of Marcus Aurelius, emperor of Rome and philosopher of the Stoics. In his Meditations, written by lamplight while the empire pressed upon his weary shoulders, he taught himself to release regret. “Do not waste the remainder of your life in thoughts about others,” he wrote, “or in grieving what cannot be undone.” Like Serena, he understood that the past cannot be rewound. The only power given to man is how he greets the present hour. His empire rose and fell, but his wisdom endured, because he mastered himself rather than time.

Yet how many of us live shackled to yesterday? We replay failures, words we should not have spoken, opportunities we let slip. We imagine that if only we could return, all would be set right. But such dreams are shadows, and shadows cannot feed the spirit. To get over it—as Serena declares—is not weakness but strength, not surrender but triumph. For it is to declare that the past holds no dominion, that the present shall not be poisoned by ghosts.

Let us remember, too, that this lesson was not spoken from comfort but from struggle. Serena faced defeats, injuries, and the heavy weight of expectation. She knew the sting of moments lost. Yet rather than let regret devour her, she rose with renewed fire. In this she stands like the heroes of old, who, though struck down, rose again to finish the battle. For victory is not measured only in trophies, but in the heart that refuses to dwell in the ashes of what might have been.

The teaching is clear: one must not waste life in yearning for the impossible. Instead, turn regret into fuel, and sorrow into wisdom. When you stumble, ask not “What if?” but “What now?” For though you cannot rewind time, you can shape what follows. The future is clay, wet and malleable beneath your hands. To let it harden while you stare backward is to lose both past and present alike.

And what, then, shall we do? Begin with this: when regret rises, acknowledge it, but do not dwell there. Speak to it as Serena spoke: “You cannot be changed, therefore you cannot chain me.” Practice gratitude for the moment you still hold. Use failure as a teacher, not a tormentor. Above all, refuse to surrender today to the tyranny of yesterday.

So let this wisdom pass down: “I can’t pay a person to rewind time, so I may as well get over it.” Carry these words as a shield when regret assails you. Remember that life is not lived in the past, nor yet in the dream of tomorrow, but in the fierce light of now. Walk forward unburdened, and let each step resound with freedom, for you have conquered the one enemy no coin can bribe and no warrior can defeat—time itself.