The way I viewed time changed in 2007 when I quit my desk job, threw some essentials in a large suitcase, and moved 5,000 miles east to a town I’d never heard of in southern Spain. I arrived in Jaén with only one real responsibility: teach English. But I brought my own to-do list, of course. Toward the top was learning Spanish and soaking in Andalusian culture. Immersed in all things Spanish, I soon noticed that something was missing. Rushing. The people of southern Spain never seemed to be in a hurry. People went along their way steadily. Their steps were laced neither with idleness—everything still got done—nor with a sole determination to get somewhere. They sauntered at a pace that anchored them in the present moment. And as they passed, I spied no fear of late arrivals or wasted time. My mainstream American mindset found nothing familiar about this. …