The Day That Takes Its Time

Slower life is a gift and a pinch, at the same hour of the same day.

By Neil Solomon · 3 min read

Picture a couple named Carol and Ed. At home, Carol ran a team and Ed sat on two boards. Their calendar was full. Now they stand in a government office in a warm country, and the clerk is chatting with a colleague. Nobody looks at a clock.

Ed's jaw is tight. Carol is watching the clerk's hands and thinking about how she has not been this still in thirty years.

"It will take as long as it takes," she says.

"That is what worries me," Ed says.

I think this is the most common feeling in the stories I have read. Slower life is a gift and a pinch, at the same hour of the same day.

What people describe, place by place

Costa Rica. One writer says slowing down may have lengthened his life. He sounds humbled by it. Another voice tells of retirees who stay unhappy out of pride, because admitting the move did not suit them feels like failing.

Nicaragua. A man says this is the happiest he has ever been. He does not say why in grand terms. It sounds like the days simply fit him.

Belize. Two notes here. One person warns against trusting glowing reports. Another says it takes patience to get a driver's licence, a land title or a work permit. Both are about the same thing: the pace is real, and so is the wait.

Ecuador. A writer three years in talks about letting go of the clock, even with fireworks, parties and barking dogs around. She sounds calm about it.

Brazil. Afternoon coffee, then a late dinner. One retiree bends the eating schedule to fit the people at the table. It reads as an adjustment that turned into a pleasure.

Argentina. Strikes, storms and blackouts teach a rhythm: plan B, plan C, then no expectations at all. It sounds tiring and freeing in equal parts.

Uruguay. One couple writes that they are not there to change the country. They tell of a small errand that needed four light bulbs and four counters. Another voice tells of a phone office where a half hour passed and nobody hurried. Both sound at peace.

Paraguay. The speed of life is described as calm, with a note that there are no stop signs on some roads. I read that as a joke and a lesson in one.

Chile. Here one voice, from an older account, finds things run on time but lack zest. It is a different complaint. It shows that "slow" is not the same everywhere.

What I take from it

The pace is not one thing. In some places it is waiting. In others it is lingering. The first can wear on us. The second can heal.

I also notice that the people who seem happiest let go of one idea: that their time is worth more than the clerk's. When they stop keeping score, the afternoon opens up. When they hold on, every queue becomes an insult.

Pride is the hidden trap in the Costa Rica story. A person can be unhappy for years rather than say the move did not fit. I would want to know that about myself before I went.