I'm Major Jackson and this is the slowdown.

And this is the slowdown. down.

Late one Friday, I said, we had a long week. Let's go to Cheekwood.

We love our local garden and art museum here in Nashville.

Diddy applauded me for my spontaneous outing, rare for me these days, even leisure time is scheduled.

No exhibition called to us. We simply wanted fresh air and to walk ourselves into a contemplative space.

In fact, I repeat it, let's move quietly.

The paths are typically crowded, not on this day, just a few young families with children and several other couples.

Plus, the rains had come down the previous night. People thought better than walking muddy paths, unlike us. We

meandered around landscape beds of daffodils and lilies. I walked intently with my serious hands behind my serious

back. In my head, I kept returning to my last Zoom meeting, then to a remark a colleague made the previous day.

No, no, no, I thought. Let's try again.

I tried to clear my head of work in the Japanese garden.

But then a boisterous kid, maybe seven or eight years old,

arrived.

His carefree roaming about and loud talk to his parents suddenly placed into

relief how grave I had become, humorless even. He was present and I was bothered by things I had little

control over. He didn't care about a respectful volume.

I idealized a peaceful silence.

I decided to take a page out of the kids' book.

I ran my hands along the bamboo wall and whistled to myself.

Diddy looked at me strangely.

...