I'm Major Jackson and this is the slowdown.

And this is the slowdown. Slow down.

One morning, the grumbling noise of a truck passing below the window woke me. I turned over in another hotel room.

I could not, for a moment, remember what city I was in. Light sliced through the blinds into the

dark room and landed on the TV. I took a glimpse of myself in my illuminated reflection.

For a second, I wondered who I was.

I thought, what did I do the previous night? Oh yes a dinner with my host then an

early night sleep. How long have I even been in this bed? I had not been

disoriented like that in a long time. I heard my neighbors pat down the hotel hallway toward the lobby.

I imagined trays of glistening croissants, powdered eggs, urns of coffee, decaff and caffeinated each, and toreens of oatmeal awaiting them.

Occasionally, I experience a psychological disconnection

between my work, my life, and the world.

Finding myself not home again, my spirit was trending

a willy-lomin aesthetic. A disassociation of self often reminds me I am due for a reboot.

I arrived home for several days I checked my email only once in the morning, then at night.

I hugged my family frequently and did not let my mind wander. I took a long walk in my

neighborhood. I thought about the lives of people around me. I made dinners.

I meditated. I called my father, I felt my footing again.

Braving my life often means encountering waves of uncertainty and disillusionment.

The ritualistic return to a spiritual dwelling, physical, and or mental, increasingly is vital.

My heart and mind runs a mental hand

over the surfaces of things that matter to me.

...