I guess I'm getting old. I say this not because I feel old or even because I'm starting to look old (yes, I know I am). I say this because I've made a discovery ... the type of discovery that old people make.
I've discovered the value of slow. I've always been one to enjoy a lazy canoe float on a lake or a gentle zigzag down a ski slope, but now I've come to enjoy a lot more slowness. The chairlift ride up the hill, a stroll through downtown at night, a careful reading of a page. Slow means noticing colors, listening to sounds, feeling the breeze. Slow means situational awareness (a lovely term I latched onto while watching the movie "A Perfect Getaway"). Slow means living each day, and taking each breath, more fully.
Now if I only could remember all this when I get behind the wheel, where (much to my neighbors' disappointment) I'm still actually quite young.