I’m sitting in a plaza in Aveiro, Portugal. At this hour, the sun is journeying downward across the sky – lengthening shadows and bathing us in that ethereal golden hour before sunset. But it’s still warm, with a slight breeze – a gentle reminder that it’s not quite summer yet. Across the plaza from me are a bakery and a Nata Lisboa cafe where people are luxuriating with desserts, cups of Meia de Leites, Cariocas, and maybe a Café com Cheirinho (coffee with a few drops of a traditional Portuguese spirit made from grape skins and stems). I see an elderly woman slowly making her way with a walking stick, couples strolling across the plaza hand in hand, children playing soccer as their parents watch over them, and tourists toting cameras, backpacks, and the ubiquitous water bottle. The background music to this is composed of bird chirps, the cooing of pigeons, and doppler-affected conversations as people walk by me on their way to meet someone, go shopping, or just on a late afternoon walk. Since moving to Portugal (or anytime I’ve left the mainland United States, for that matter), I’ve noticed that I tend to crave being outdoors. It rejuvenates me. My life has also slowed down since my move. I walk more. I eat a little slower. And though I tend to walk faster now (primarily due to walking more in general), I’m not in a hurry or mad rush. I worry less about tomorrow. And, to my surprise, I’ve also lost about 10 pounds. But, of course, I had to convert that from kilos. Yeah, things are tough. I wasn’t expecting math.

There have been some other changes in my life. I think more about the people back home who are still rushing through life, pursuing that elusive something or that magic number that will indicate to them that it’s time to stop, slow down, or just breathe. That used to be me. Don’t get me wrong, I still have goals and duties, but now they operate on my schedule instead of the other way around. My days here are long. Often, when I say this, people sometimes get the wrong idea or ask me what I mean when I say my days are long. When I was part of the hustle crowd, a long day was code for a bad day. It’s the opposite for me here. Now, when I say my days are long, I mean that I get to experience the fullness of each day. I get to sip instead of chug. I get to chew instead of gulp. Instead of rushing to a meeting or running to catch a flight, I get to sit and feel the day, the sun on my arms, the healing qualities of silence, stillness, and the joys of daily improvisations. Two days ago, I found myself on a train platform headed to Porto. However, as we passed a seaside town, I decided to get off at the next stop and walk toward the beach instead. I’ll get to Porto some other time…maybe.

I spend a lot of time at any one of several Portuguese Padarias (bakeries), sipping small cups of coffee accompanied by a Bolos de Arroz, the small Portuguese rice muffins, a misto, or nothing. I sip and reflect on life and how blessed I am. I sip and take in my surroundings, the aromas, the sounds. I watch students draped in thick black cloaks – Harry Potter-style – on their way to school or home. I sip and wonder how it would have been to be young here – to be in love here.

The soft, quiet, measured steps of the evening make their way across the plaza. I’ll be leaving soon. Tomorrow’s improvisations await.