When I landed in Paris with my French class in my senior year of high school, I noticed everyone was looking at us. Granted, we were dragging along massive suitcases and wearing sweatpants and hoodies (a big no-no on the streets of Paris). But even after we unpacked and put on the fabulous outfits we planned, and even before we opened our mouths to reveal we only spoke English, I could tell we were still so out of place.
As an avid observer, I quickly realized the stark distinction between our group and the Parisian locals. No matter what we were doing, we prioritized being on the go — eating on the go, drinking on the go, altering our actions to ensure we reached our destinations. These were all things I noticed Parisians simply do not do.
Parisians treat eating as its own practice. Never something to rush through or check off, a meal is something you sit down with and fully experience. You can do it surrounded by people or alone, but not while splitting your attention between your food and a screen or any other task.
Wanting to immerse myself in the culture as much as possible, my friends and I began mirroring Parisian patterns. While we would normally run from landmark to museum while sipping Orangina and scarfing down pains au chocolat in between stops, we decided to restrict food to restaurants and drinks to cafés.
For us, this small shift changed the way we viewed food, and, in turn, the way we experienced everything around it — conversation, rest and even time itself.
My time in Paris, spent drinking my coffee while simply staring out the window, helped rewire my brain during the busiest of days. Sitting without stimulation allowed me to find beauty in the little things — conversations unfolding around me, people embracing or arguing and pigeons attempting to solicit crumbs from them. One afternoon, a friend and I sat at a bistro for over an hour watching a cat roam around meowing — seemingly arguing with the waitstaff about why he couldn’t be served.
I also became more aware of my body’s cues by eating meals without distractions. At home, I often finish eating only to feel like I’ve had too much. My stomach rapidly expands and roars, trying to play catch-up with how fast I moved through the meal. But in Paris, moments like that never happened. The longer pauses between bites gave me time to register when I was actually full, turning eating into something intuitive rather than rushed.
In life, it’s so easy to prioritize productivity. As college students, we’ve been conditioned to constantly take advantage of opportunities, stay busy and maximize every hour of the day. If you step into the dining hall, you’ll see this mindset spilling over into basic routines — people inhaling meals in ten minutes with eyes glued to their phones, treating them as a time to catch up on internet trends between classes.
Even in a space theoretically meant for rest, there’s a low-level urgency that never really lets you settle. You anxiously circle the room searching for an open seat. You zig-zag through traffic, trying not to drop the two plates you’re carrying. You don’t leave feeling recharged, but just as — if not more — scattered than when you walked in, as now you’re also wondering what mysterious liquid splashed onto your hand while dropping off your dishes.
I’m not going to propose a life where we abandon productivity entirely or exist only in pursuit of leisure, but I do think there’s value in letting ourselves slow down, even briefly. To sit down with a meal without distraction and experience it for what it is: Not just fuel, but a moment of pause in an otherwise constant routine.
Back on campus, where everything moves quickly, that kind of stillness can feel unrealistic. But maybe it doesn’t require a full lifestyle shift. Maybe it’s as simple as putting your phone down for one meal, sitting a little longer than you need to or letting yourself simply exist in the in-between moments of your day. In a routine built around constant motion, choosing to slow down — even for a short while — can be enough.
Daily Arts Contributor Grace Otieno can be reached at graceot@umich.edu.
