I was the slowest eater growing up.

My mother threatened to record a tape of herself yelling “Mangia!” (eat) on loop for an hour and just have it running every time I sat at the table.

My dad would joke that I should start breakfast the night before so I would finish at the same time as everyone else in the morning.

It took me forever, but I did eat. It was slow… painfully slow… but the food eventually disappeared. This would continue until the illustrious time of puberty when a plate of food couldn’t be inhaled fast enough.

And now, I have to force myself to slow down.
Pay attention.
Join the conversation at the table.
Take my food one bite at a time while being present to the world around my plate.

It seems the slow pace of life I had as a child is really the life I long to bring back as an adult. One bite at a time, I suppose I could.