Slow life.

In New York City, things move fast.

Calendars are filled with color-coded boxes from Monday to Fri- …Sunday.

People rush everywhere: when you walk, you almost have to signal if you want to shift to your right or left on the sidewalk.

And it’s safe to say that car’s honking is the most played noise in the streets.

But here at home in Italy… time stops. ✋

Today I woke up seeing my dad preparing fresh “radicchio” (Italian salad) from his garden, with a bowl of handpicked cherries from his trees.

When he saw me, he asked (wasn’t really a question) if I could fix up the lawn. **

What happens to me at home is perfectly explained by the Italian term “ridimensionarsi.”

It doesn’t really have a direct English translation, but here’s my Oxford-style attempt:

Re-gaining perspective, so that one can find balance.

The best therapy ever.

** There goes my attempt to relax for a few days.