Lessons From a Grocery Store

I have found that there’s no such thing as a quick trip to the grocery store in Lisbon. Today is no exception. I am in the Pingo Doce at the check-out register, surrounded by a gaggle of elderly 5-foot senhoras. (This is fairly common in Portugal, which has a large ageing population.)

But make no mistake, these ladies are feisty. A lively conversation is ongoing, and I catch a few words here and there. I stand among them like a giant.

Someone usually tries to stake their place in line, using a package, a shopping cart, or a package of toilet paper while they shop. This time a bag of bacalhau(dried codfish) is passed over and placed by the cash register.

I catch the eye of the lady behind me who passed the fish over. More exclamations. I smile beatifically, feigning the ignorance of an immigrant, the traveler, newly arrived in a small village, unaware of its quaint local customs.

Next, change is needed at the cash register, and someone passes a 5 Euro note to help out. I have no idea how the accounting is worked out, but there seems to be a system. The much younger woman at the cash register is a party to all this, thoroughly enjoying the camaraderie.

What unfolds here is no different from a scene in a local market. Old customs don’t die; they just take on new forms of expression.

It will take me another 15 minutes to check out. I take a deep breath and use this as an opportunity to practice mindfulness. The ladies chat away in no particular hurry to move on. I’ve discovered that conversation and pleasantries are meaningful in Portugal. Relationships come first, and transactions second.

Priding myself on paying efficiently for my groceries with a swipe of my card, I rush on. You can usually spot newly arrived immigrants from the US because they tend to be on some sort of mission scurrying along. I plead guilty.

The locals never seem to be in too much of a hurry. Time, here, is more elastic.

I am reminded of a favorite quote by Alan Watts:

“The meaning of life is just to be alive. It is so plain and so obvious and so simple. And yet, everybody rushes around in a great panic as if it were necessary to achieve something beyond themselves.”

“Why hurry through life?”, I ask myself, making an effort to walk more slowly. To not look at my phone as I walk. To not have to achieve something in every moment. To be more like the senior citizens who sit about on park benches or play chess or hang out of windows looking around and not doing anything in particular, certainly not panicking.

We will arrive at old age complete with walking sticks and creaking bones, all in good time. There is no need to rush, or panic.

I walk by an orange tree that a man is poking at vigorously with a long stick. And the next minute, shiny oranges are rolling down the street past me in all directions. I watch as they gather sped as I slow down.