Maturity brings changes that are often positive for our lives. There are behaviors that we have learned and normalized not only because society forces us to do so, but also because youth is a stage in which we need to feel accepted and do what others ask of us. One of the behaviors that I have left in the past and no longer care about is the speed with which I used to do things.

We have always been taught that time is a commodity that we must value and that the more things we do in as little time as possible, the better we are. In life, like a sprint, the winner is the one who gets there first, the one who does something in the shortest time, the one who can do a thousand things at once. I am sad to say that before, everything I did was done in such a hurry that I seemed like an automaton. I walked so fast that I easily missed appreciating my surroundings, I ate so fast that I didn't taste my food, I lived on such a fast train that I forgot that life is for living, not for running.

People I knew always said I had a rocket in my body, that I should take things more calmly, turn down the intensity, slow down the pace of my days. But I have to say that there was a certain pleasure, a certain adrenaline rush in racing around like a runaway horse. Being involved in everything, doing a thousand things, never having any calm or quiet, was the roller coaster that pumped blood through my veins.

I remember him saying disparagingly that “a stationary ship doesn't pay freight” or that others were moving at a snail's pace or in slow motion, and that he wouldn't allow anyone to be a punctuation mark (pause) in my life. I criticized my mother for cooking so slowly, saying, “Just put it in the air fryer and that's it,” belittling the stoves of my ancestors. I also used to say “This is for yesterday” to my students, putting them under a wave of stress, which is why more than one of them must have hated me.

But certain experiences shook me up and made me put the brakes on the life I was leading. At one point, I stopped and asked myself: What's the rush? Why do I have to walk so fast as if someone were waiting for me or as if I were late? Why do I have to stress myself out doing a thousand things when I can do one thing and enjoy it?

So I started walking more slowly, alongside others, without bumping into anyone. I began to notice details that are imperceptible when we rush; I began to delight in flavors, appreciate them, distinguish them. Cooking, for example, became a pleasurable activity, not the typical thing we do out of biological obligation when we are hungry. Chopping the ingredients, tasting the food as it cooked, waiting for it to be ready slowed down my clock and made me understand that even writing takes time.

Right now, I'm not in a rush, although I try not to take time away from others. At my age, I've lived more than I have left to live. I don't want to leave the party feeling like I haven't enjoyed myself at all. So, as Sebastián, a student this semester, says, “I'm taking it easy.” For some time now, my life has been simmering, letting the flavors blend and all the ingredients come together. I don't want an Airfryer-type life, I want to revel in the before and after, and in the meantime, laugh if possible.