Slow and Steady, Sans Shell and Scales
Generally speaking, I’m a tortoise. I have the ability to hare out when a situation calls for it, but there are a lot of things I do slowly.
I compute slowly.
Perhaps, it would be more accurate to say that I am slow to replace my aging electronics. For this reason, I have a marked paucity of RAM—which means that in the time that it took for the barista to prepare my coffee and for the waitress to bring it to my table, my web browser still hadn’t fully loaded my homepage.
I read slowly.
One time in fourth-grade, A.J.—the class underachiever—finished his SRA before I did, and Brenda—the class commentator—said, “Wow, you finished before Amy V.!” Before that, I’d thought I was a fast reader, but ever since the A.J. incident, I’ve spent half my reading time thinking about A.J. and how I’m slow, which, of course, slows me down even more.
I order slowly.
Eight years of vegetarianism has rendered me ill-equipped to make a selection from menu items in excess of three. In many parts of our fair country, this inability presents no issue, but in the restaurants of, say, Boulder or Berkeley, I face a lot of sighs from servers and dining partners.
I process slowly.
My oldest sister, Lori, was the first to accurately identify the condition: I am a slow processor. If you told me a joke, rest assured, I would get it. But you could probably watch the entire Gone with the Wind (and, depending on the joke, Dances with Wolves) before you heard me laugh.
I sauté onions slowly.
I mean really slowly. My sister, Wendy, never ceases to be astounded by this ability of mine. I just happen to think that the melt-in-your-mouth-ness of slow-cooked, caramelized onions is worth the wait.
I write slowly.
Don’t ask me how long I labored over this blog post. If you knew, you’d probably expect it to be a whole lot better.
I go places slowly.
Relative to slugs, sloths, and snails, no. Relative to members of my species, yes—for reasons that should be obvious to my blog-readers. I walk with expedience and often pass others in the bike lane, but that, of course, does not compensate for the fact that I do not have a six-cylinder engine propelling me through the world.
Maybe all the other things I do slowly enable me to make peace with the last item in the list. After all, we all know that “slow and steady wins the race.” The real mystery is what we’re racing for.