I'm Major Jackson, and this is the slowdown.

I live in Music City, Nashville, USA.

I thought the name Music City was a mere marketing ploy.

But on my block, in each direction, also live songwriters, industry executives, and studio professionals.

When I arrived during the pandemic, I listened to band practicing on the front yard,

regaling the neighborhood with a free concert.

My neighbor Mary texts me,

Major, what do you think of this lyric?

I saw a midnight blue velvet tie-dye sky across your horizon line.

She once sent me.

Nashville lives up to its name.

I am not a fan of cultural stereotypes.

I often push back against regionalized portraits of people. I am not a fan of cultural stereotypes.

I often push back against regionalized portraits of people.

But Nashville is also, if you haven't heard, in the South.

And as a visiting friend from Boston posted on social media,

Southern hospitality is alive and real down here.

Trust me, I know surface friendliness can be a veil for darker motives, but since moving here,

rude behavior is even more visible to me, here and elsewhere, because of the excessive climate of kindness. The suited businessman who talks loudly in public spaces. The young woman rushing into

buildings and lets doors shut on the elderly. The driver, who crosses two lanes of traffic without turn signals,

the art curator who looks about in search of more important people in the room.

They all slightly chip away at our sense of decency.

...