Racing Against Time
Before I moved to Portugal, time felt like my enemy. Back then, time wasn’t something I lived in — it was something I raced, feared, and never seemed to outrun.
I was always racing the clock—scheduling, optimizing, trying to squeeze more life into less space. Back in Canada, I wore busyness like a badge — though in truth, it branded me more like a scarlet letter. Productivity was praised, and rest felt like a guilty indulgence. Even when I wasn’t working, my mind was calculating: how much I’d done, how much I still had to do, and how behind I must be if I wasn’t exhausted. I didn’t just live in a fast-paced environment — I internalized it.
The Move to Portugal
So when my family and I made the decision to move to Portugal, I expected sunshine, safer streets, beautiful coastlines, and delicious food. What I didn’t anticipate was the confrontation I’d have with the concept of time itself.
At first, it was jarring. Everything here seemed to take longer. Bureaucratic processes had their own rhythm, lunch breaks lasted for hours, and entire days would pass where seemingly nothing urgent was accomplished. People stopped to chat mid-errand. Stores closed for reasons, no sign explained.
Even at the playground, there was no rush — children played until well past sunset, and no one seemed to worry about bedtime routines or scheduled activities. The structure I was used to began to dissolve. And with it, my sense of control.
The Initial Frustration
I found myself frustrated at times. I couldn’t understand how others functioned in such a loosely held concept of time. Didn’t they worry about getting ahead? Being productive? Making the most of every second?
Learning a New Rhythm
But slowly—softly—Portugal began to teach me something my old life never could. Time, here, isn’t a race. It’s a rhythm. And the moment you stop trying to control it, you begin to move with it.
There’s a certain grace in how life unfolds in Lisbon. People take their coffee standing at the counter, chatting with strangers. They walk—truly walk—without rushing, taking in the tiles, the shadows, the scent of bread from the corner pastelaria. Lunch isn’t inhaled in front of a screen; it’s an experience, often shared, never rushed. Dinner starts late and stretches long. Children are present at every hour, their voices echoing through alleyways as the city exhales into evening.
Read More: Finding Serenity and Connection On The Less-Traveled Portuguese Camino
Embracing the Change
Something in me softened. At first, it was subtle. I started leaving my phone behind on walks. I found myself breathing deeper, taking in the ochre light of sunset instead of checking the time. I stopped obsessing over bedtime, letting my children play a little longer if they were laughing. I began to linger—at the table, in conversation, even with myself.
And then something shifted inside me. I realized I no longer measured the success of a day by how many tasks I’d checked off. I started to feel satisfied by simpler things: a good meal, a shared laugh, a walk without purpose. I began to trust that presence was more valuable than speed. And that slowness didn’t mean laziness — it meant deliberateness.
Rediscovering Joy
Time became expansive again. It stretched, curved, softened. It gave me room to breathe. In this new pace of life, I started reconnecting with the things I’d buried under busyness. I began writing again, not out of pressure but from inspiration. I returned to cooking without multitasking. I looked at my children longer, listened more deeply. There was no “hurry up” — because where were we really rushing to?
Portugal reminded me that time is not something you conquer. It’s something you inhabit.
Read More: Top 10 Things to Do in Lisbon, Portugal
A New Perspective
I think many of us are living lives we don’t have time to feel. We check in only when things break down—when we burn out, when our relationships strain, when our health forces us to pause. But what if the point of life wasn’t to keep going faster, but to be present enough to notice when something needs our attention before it screams for it?
Moving abroad didn’t magically solve everything. I still have days where I default to old habits — where I crave the dopamine hit of being productive or get frustrated when things take “too long.” But those days are fewer now. And when they come, I know how to recalibrate.
Sometimes all it takes is walking to my local café and watching the world move at a human pace. Sometimes it’s seeing an elderly couple slowly cross the street, arms linked, not caring who’s waiting. Sometimes it’s hearing the church bells echo across tiled rooftops, reminding me that I’m part of something older, slower, and wiser than my to-do list.
Conclusion
Portugal has healed many things in me, but none more so than my relationship with time. I no longer feel the need to outrun it. I walk beside it now, quietly, patiently, with reverence. And somehow, in slowing down, I’ve finally caught up — with myself.
Inspire your next adventure with our articles below:
Author Bio: Natasha Soares is a Canadian writer, poet, and mother of two, currently living in Lisbon, Portugal. With a gentle, heartfelt voice, she writes about motherhood, creativity, and life abroad — capturing the small moments that shape us and the quiet magic found in the everyday. Her work often blends personal story with soulful insight, touching on themes of identity, connection, and becoming. When she’s not writing, Natasha is lost in the world of Tudor history, drawn to the mysteries of ancient civilizations, or soaking in the beauty of Renaissance art. She’s always dreaming up the next beautiful stop on her family’s European journey.
Want to discover more hidden gems and helpful travel tips? Join our free newsletter for the latest travel secrets and travel articles.
We are reader-supported and may earn a commission on purchases made through links in this article.
