The Sabbatical My Nervous System Begged For

by Shelley Karpaty

We recently saw the one and only John Mellencamp on the last show of his 6-month Dancing Words Tour — The Greatest Hits. It was nostalgia of the bittersweet kind, knowing we are all older, and with every song, flashes of adolescent memories flickered in my mind’s eye.

Remember when John Cougar barreled onto the scene with “Jack and Diane?” Watching the new excitement of MTV music videos and wondering who this Midwest James Dean vibe apparition was on the screen. He was definitely the boy your mother worried about, smoking, riding a motorcycle with that undeniably beautiful head of wavy hair that I would have loved to drag my fingers through.

Growing up, we all witnessed his charged yet poetic energy through his music, with every song becoming an earworm.

One thing was undeniable: he knew who he was and didn’t deny his girl-crazy desires that remain today. On the last night of the tour, he pleaded with his latest lady friend to come on stage to say hello, who peeked out and waved.

“Diane’s sittin’ on Jacky’s lap, he’s got his hands between her knees”

“Sink your teeth right through my bones, baby, let’s see what we can do”

“You say that’s all right, hold tight / Well, I don’t even know if I’m doin’ this right”

Mellencamp’s music catalog is also rooted in a sharp, populist strain of political commentary that I hadn’t concentrated too much on as a teen; yet when he performed them all together, I could see the full scope of his artistry. He had spent decades using his platform to advocate for family farmers (co-founded Farm Aid), working-class Americans, and victims of racial injustice. Even recently, he took a fierce, highly public stand against Jewish hatred, delivering passionate speeches at major industry events to condemn this, declaring himself a lifelong ally.

An uncompromised, blue-collar artist who refuses to fake a smile for approval, Mellencamp embraces his rough edges as the core of his raw authenticity. And I’m all for it.

The evening grounded my nervous system as we danced and sang along with the amazing band. Sometimes we forget that the most important part of our day is to remember to pay attention to our nervous system, don’t we? And then when we do, whooo whee.

I have been writing about old memories all summer, recalling times before age 10. I want to be honest about something: not every school memory taught me something gentle.

Some of them just taught me my rank in an enormous world. Some of them made me small in ways I’m still unlearning at fifty-something.

But I don’t think the practice is separating the “good” memories from the “bad” ones and only keeping the pretty pile.

The practice is letting all of it, the clearing and the smallness, the fear and the kindness, sit together as the actual, textured truth of a whole childhood.

I’m realizing that wholeness was never about being unbroken. It was always about holding every piece without turning away.

Life is a circle and will continue even in death. And as a parent who is creeping up in age, closer to it every day — not because of illness, but because it is part of the cycle — I think about it more.

Watching Mellencamp on that stage, I realized I was watching two things age at once: him, and the years my own kids have left in this house. His songs haven’t changed, but he has, and so have I, and so have they. My son and daughter aren’t the adolescents I once steered through the world — they’re becoming their own people, right on their own schedule, whether I’m ready or not. That’s the part of the circle nobody warns you about: it’s not just your own aging you feel, it’s theirs.

It’s why being more analog is more meaningful these days — remembering the adolescent years into adulthood, and realizing that I am no longer a leader as a parent but a guide. A leader tells you where to go. A guide just makes sure you don’t have to walk it alone.

Having more awareness of my nervous system, like a compass, helps me be this guide in the new wilderness of today’s complicated world.

That wilderness isn’t just personal — it’s the one I’m trying to help my kids navigate as adults, in a country that doesn’t make it easy.

We are living in complicated times, and hearing Mellencamp’s music helped to recall that America has always been complicated. We are a 250-year-old experiment with democracy, and many other countries have looked to us for their own modeling.

“Home of the free, yeah, little pink houses for you and me.”

The dream of everyone owning a home is far from reality when there are still marginalized and increased income disparities.

How are parents supposed to support their children in having their own American Dream when there are no jobs or guarantee of a path to do better than their own parents?

Since the pandemic, there’s a real shift continuing to unfold that continues to create more divide with less in-person communication. Many GenXers are pushing out retirement, creating second careers, getting pushed out of organizations that no longer want senior managers along with their salaries. Many of us are even finding side hustles for more income, particularly when their 20-somethings can’t find work, whether they attended college or not. We know a university degree isn’t necessarily a guarantee of a path to substantial income, at least not right away. I suppose it’s always been that way for some, as it was for me upon graduation. Scrappy defines Gen X.

Despite facing severe pressure in the job market, Gen X parents are heavily supporting their Gen Z kids — covering rent, insurance, the basics — because there’s often no other option. It’s boomerang parenting, and most of us didn’t see it coming.

Not so much anymore, and it’s up to individuals to make it work better for us locally. I honestly don’t know how to have an impact on a large scale because I don’t believe I can. But I know I can have an impact locally.

In some ways, the best backlash will be to get back to basics. Applying the elements of real-life community.

• Community dinners. Saying hello to your neighbors. Taking in the garbage bins and the mail for your neighbors when they are away. Supporting local farmers and even growing some of your own food. Putting up little libraries that expand to giving away food and clothing. Random acts of kindness and coming out of the isolation. Finding ways to have real conversations, like salons. Enjoying house concerts over tea and cake. Creating more art.

The more isolated we become, the less we see one another and the more divisive we become. I believe analog is the way to ground our nervous systems, not only by getting off social media but by interacting with real humans.

“People are hard to hate close up. Move in.” — Brené Brown

The tools I keep coming back to aren’t exotic. They’re ordinary, which is exactly why they work. Curiosity without dismissiveness can only happen when you drop the know-it-all righteousness.

Mindfulness. Writing. Dreamwork, paying attention to what the sleeping mind is trying to tell the waking one. Energy work. Singing, even especially badly.

Long walks with no destination. Cooking as a form of prayer. Talking with someone about a book or a film that cracked something open.

None of these require a retreat or a mat or a certification.

The sacred has never required special equipment. Only attention.

The little monastery has a kitchen, a sidewalk, and a stack of books. That’s enough, don’t you think?