I forget I learned to juggle. Frequently. Repeatedly.
I did so with three old golf balls, walking around the office during a gloomy winter that was probably a summer because the carpet was gray and the sky was gray and the golf balls were gray from usage on their greens of purpose. Golf balls were less forgiving than many possible object lessons, bouncing with an emphasis like periods rather than parentheses. A slightly steeper learning curve with a more challenging and precise orbital reach.
And then I remember that I taught myself how to juggle, and laugh at how all of the welcome struggle and mistakes slowly washed away in a tide. Remembering again, because I had forgotten, this gift of surprise, like a duel of a party trick I play on myself occasionally. Do I still have the knack and feel, the muscle memory? Like learning to play two handed piano or clutch a manual transmission, that balance of pattern.
If I could suffer through all that temporary disaster toward acquiring the gift of a three body problem, perhaps there were other skills I just merely have forgotten I have, but not lost.