Speed is relative. Okay, so you can quantify it, measure it, try to control it. But in the end, everyone has his own custom pace.

Mine used to be a lot faster than it is now. But my deceleration was gradual. I only notice how slow I’ve become when I hear my friends talk about their hectic lives. Their treadmill existence. Their scampering and clawing to God-knows-where.

I jumped off that hamster wheel a long time ago. Living in Europe helps. People understand the meaning of vacations and rest here. Even stores close once a week to give their employees a break.

I don’t call that backwards. I call that progress.

But visits to my homeland and chats with my American loved ones remind me of how I used to live. It makes me tense just thinking about all that pushing and pulling I used to engage in.

For a lot of people it is necessary to play the Corporate game. They have children to feed, educate and launch. They have mortgages to pay. Slow isn’t a part of their vocabulary, even with the very best intentions.

I wonder when life became so complicated that we had to have the five bedroom home with six baths. We trade our personal bank account of time for a paycheck and a pension fund. And the years slip by while we pound the treadmill in hopes of getting to that elusive place called heaven.

Heaven is here on Earth. Having tried the fast track, I realize now that — at least for me — the Slow Road will do just fine. Living with less does not mean living small. A big life starts — and ends — in our hearts and minds.