Remember when:
You’d spend a long day at the lake with your family—learning to ski, battling to see who could hold on longest to the inner tube, then swimming and fishing until the sun finally gave out? Not a single text message. No one scrolling TikTok or playing Candy Crush. No emails. No Instagram. And if someone took a photo, it was on a film camera—and you had to wait until the whole roll was used before you could even think about seeing it. Sometimes it was months—or a year—before those memories made it into your hands.
Or when you could leave the house for an entire day, maybe two, and had zero idea if someone had called unless you checked the answering machine? Or even further back—when there was no answering machine—and if someone didn’t reach you, they just had to try again later?
Or those pool parties where it rained, but the kids swam anyway until the adults spotted lightning? Back when getting wet wasn’t a problem—it was a plan?
I remember. Russ and I have chosen, now and then, to just leave our phones behind. Our kids give us a hard time—they track us on Life360 more than we track them. Privacy isn’t just gone—it’s suspicious. But honestly? Sometimes it feels like freedom. A moment without a screen or a ding or a digital leash is a rare, quiet gift.
Kicking it old school really can be refreshing. Can we go back entirely? No, probably not. But we can choose to mute the noise more often. Because the more we unplug, the more we actually plug in—to life, to people, to what matters.
