I'm Major Jackson and this is The Slowdown.

Yesterday while trying to write a poem, I ran out of ink.

I couldn't locate another pen.

When I went to shut the desk drawer, it jammed.

The morning was frustrating.

Words came and fits and starts, phrases frittered as soon as I uttered them out loud.

Fed up, I grabbed a brown paper bag and without discretion emptied all the contents of my desk.

Erasers, old receipts, paper binders, junk.

The bag sacked with several years' worth of absent-minded story.

I followed this by neatening up the floor and by gathering empty cups and glasses strewn

throughout my office.

I shelved stacks of books and wiped down surfaces.

I breathed and listened and listened as the words eventually came.

I don't do this enough, I thought.

Channel moments of debilitating writer's block into impromptu decluttering sessions.

However, over the years, when my high-speed, high-traffic life slowed to a bumper to bumper,

six-lane freeway during rush hour, I learned to purge myself of off-told stories,

long-treasured values, and entrenched ideas.

They shaped me, but I discovered also prevented me from advancing to the next stages of my

life, if not my heart.

For example, I'd always believed in the dignity and value of work, as I was taught.

Fortunately, however, thanks to the intervention of friends who love theme parks, concerts,

...