The Generation That Watched the World Change
There is something about growing up in the 80s and 90s that I don't think any generation after us will ever fully understand.
And before anyone comes at me with the whole "every generation thinks their childhood was better" argument, hear me out.
We are a generation that has witnessed an absolutely INSANE amount of change in one lifetime. We have watched the world go from relatively simple to so technologically advanced that I'm pretty sure my refrigerator is one software update away from telling me I need to eat more vegetables.
And while some of those advancements are incredible, I can't help but wonder...
Did we gain the world and lose a little bit of what made life worth living?
From 8-Tracks to Spotify… What a Ride
Think about the evolution of music alone.
We remember 8-track players in our grandparents' cars. Those big, clunky cartridges that somehow played music and made our grandparents perfectly happy.
Then came cassette tapes.
Oh, the cassette tapes.
We were professional surgeons with a No. 2 pencil, carefully winding that precious brown tape back into its plastic housing after the cassette player decided to eat our favorite song.
And don't even get me started on recording songs off the radio. You would sit there for HOURS waiting for your favorite song to come on, finger hovering over the record button like you were defusing a bomb, only to have the DJ start talking during the last 15 seconds.
SIR. I HAVE BEEN WAITING THREE HOURS. PLEASE SHUT THE FUCK UP.
Then came CDs.
We thought we had ARRIVED.
Until one tiny scratch turned your favorite song into a remix nobody asked for.
Then came the iPod.
Thousands of songs in your pocket? Playlists? Downloading exactly what you wanted to listen to?
MIND. BLOWN.
And now?
Apple Music. Amazon Music. Spotify. YouTube Music.
Virtually every song, every artist, every genre, from every decade, available instantly.
We went from rewinding tapes with pencils to telling a little electronic woman named
Alexa to play whatever our hearts desire.
And somehow, I still miss making mixtapes.
Because a mixtape wasn't just music.
It was time. Effort. Thought. Love.
Someone sat there and picked out songs specifically for YOU.
You can't put that feeling on shuffle.
From Carburetors to Cars That Drive Themselves
And cars?
Good Lord.
We grew up around classic cars with carburetors, crank windows, bench seats, and engines that our fathers and grandfathers could actually work on in the driveway.
If something broke, somebody grabbed a toolbox, popped the hood, and started tinkering.
Then came fuel injection, computerized everything, electric vehicles, and now cars that can practically drive themselves.
My car has more technology than the computers that helped put people on the moon.
And while I appreciate heated seats and a backup camera as much as the next middle-aged woman trying not to throw her neck out while reversing, I sometimes miss the simplicity.
The windows were down. The radio was up. The destination wasn't nearly as important as the people riding along.
Nobody was staring at a screen.
We were just... together.
When Family Time Wasn't Something You Had to Schedule
But here's where this gets a little less funny.
Because the technology isn't really what I miss.
It's the people. And the way we used to spend time with them.
Remember when family dinners were just... dinner?
Nobody needed a calendar invitation.
Nobody had to coordinate six schedules, send seventeen text messages, or negotiate a date three months in advance.
You just showed up.
There was food on the table, people talking over one another, somebody complaining about something, and at least one person being told to get their elbows off the table.
You sat there until you were excused.
And after dinner?
Maybe you played cards. Maybe you watched television together. Maybe you sat on the porch while the adults talked about things you weren't supposed to hear but absolutely listened to anyway.
You went to your grandparents' house and there was something comforting about the fact that NOTHING ever changed.
The same furniture.
The same dishes.
The same candy dish.
The same smell when you walked through the door.
The same grandmother insisting you hadn't eaten enough, despite the fact that you were already one meatball away from needing medical assistance.
And you know what?
We didn't appreciate it nearly enough.
Because we thought it would always be there.
Now We're Paying to Recreate What We Once Had for Free
Have you noticed this whole "grandma era" trend?
People are baking bread, crocheting blankets, making homemade jam, growing gardens, collecting old dishes, decorating with antiques, and trying to create cozy homes that feel like Grandma's house.
And don't get me wrong.
I LOVE IT.
I'm over here trying to grow vegetables, make things from scratch, and convince myself that this will finally be the year I don't murder another sourdough starter.
But there's something almost heartbreaking about it.
We are spending a fortune trying to recreate a feeling that used to come naturally.
We're buying vintage dishes that our grandmothers used every Sunday.
We're paying ridiculous amounts of money for furniture that looks like something our grandparents had in their living rooms.
We're making bread from scratch because we miss the smell of a kitchen where someone loved us enough to spend all afternoon cooking.
We're searching antique stores for pieces of a childhood we didn't realize we were going to lose.
And maybe it's not really about the bread, the furniture, or the dishes at all.
Maybe we're just trying to find our way back to a time when life felt safe.
When someone else worried about the bills.
When the people we loved were still sitting around the table.
When home wasn't a place we were constantly trying to create.
It was simply where we belonged.
We Became More Connected and Somehow More Disconnected
Think about that for a minute.
We can video chat with someone on the other side of the world.
We can send a message in half a second.
We can see what someone ate for lunch, where they went on vacation, what they bought at Target, and what their dog did this morning.
We know more about people than ever before.
But do we really KNOW them?
We have hundreds, sometimes thousands, of "friends" online, yet getting six people together for dinner practically requires an act of Congress.
We sit in restaurants and watch entire families staring at their phones.
We text instead of calling.
We scroll instead of talking.
We document moments instead of actually living them.
Somewhere along the way, being available to everyone made us less present for the people sitting right in front of us.
And I think that's one of the saddest things about modern life.
We upgraded absolutely everything.
Except the amount of time we give one another.
What Makes Me Saddest Is What Our Children Missed
I think about my kids and the childhood experiences I had that they will never fully understand.
Not because they didn't have love.
Not because their childhoods weren't special in their own ways.
But because the world they grew up in was fundamentally different.
They didn't get the exact same version of grandparents, family gatherings, Sunday dinners, and simple everyday traditions that so many of us took for granted.
And I know every family is different. Some families today are incredibly close, and some of us didn't have perfect childhoods either.
Believe me, the 80s and 90s weren't all sunshine and rainbows.
But there was something about that time that feels increasingly rare.
There was room to be bored.
Room to wander.
Room to sit with your grandparents and listen to stories you'd heard a hundred times.
Room for ordinary moments to become extraordinary memories without anyone realizing it.
And now, as adults, we're desperately trying to manufacture those moments for our own families.
We're scheduling family dinners.
Planning screen-free evenings.
Trying to create traditions.
Trying to convince everyone to put their phones down long enough to look one another in the eyes.
Things that once happened naturally now require conscious effort.
And that breaks my heart a little.
If I Could Go Back, I Wouldn't Think Twice
People love to ask that hypothetical question:
"If you could go back in time, would you?"
For me?
In a heartbeat.
Take me back to the late 80s or early 90s.
Back before smartphones.
Before social media.
Before everyone was so busy being connected to the entire world that they forgot to
connect with the people in their own homes.
Take me back to the days when my grandparents were still here.
When family gatherings included faces I can now only see in photographs.
When the people I loved hadn't yet become people I missed.
I would give just about anything to sit at one of those tables again.
To hear those voices.
To smell that familiar kitchen.
To listen to the same stories one more time.
And this time?
I wouldn't be in such a hurry to grow up.
I wouldn't roll my eyes when someone told the same story for the fifteenth time.
I wouldn't take a single ordinary Sunday for granted.
I'd sit a little longer.
I'd listen a little closer.
I'd hug everyone a little tighter.
Because now I understand something I couldn't possibly have understood back then.
Those weren't just ordinary days.
Those were the days we would spend the rest of our lives wishing we could have back.
Maybe Progress Isn't Always Moving Forward
I'm not saying technology is bad.
I'm not suggesting we all throw our phones into the nearest river and go back to dial-up internet. Lord knows I don't miss waiting 45 minutes for a webpage to load while someone screamed that they needed to use the telephone.
Modern technology has given us incredible opportunities, conveniences, and ways to stay connected.
But I do think we lost something along the way.
Something deeply human.
The ability to slow down.
To be fully present.
To appreciate simple things without needing to photograph, post, purchase, or improve them.
And maybe that's why so many of us are suddenly obsessed with the "grandma era."
Maybe we're not actually trying to live like our grandparents.
Maybe we're trying to feel the way we felt when we were with them.
Loved. Safe. Unhurried.
Like we belonged somewhere.
Like the world outside could do whatever it wanted, but inside that house, everything was going to be okay.
And you can't buy that feeling at an antique store.
You can't order it on Amazon.
You can't recreate it with a $300 bread maker or a collection of vintage Pyrex.
You have to build it with people.
With time. With traditions. With showing up.
With putting the damn phone down.
And maybe, just maybe, we can give our children and grandchildren a little piece of what we were lucky enough to experience.
It won't look exactly the same.
It never could.
But we can try.
Because someday, the things we do today will be the memories someone else desperately wishes they could revisit.
And I hope when that day comes, they remember more than the technology we had.
I hope they remember the laughter.
The food. The conversations. The love.
And the feeling of being home.
We were the generation that got to experience the world before everything changed.
And while I wouldn't trade all the conveniences of today, I would trade an awful lot for one more Sunday afternoon with everyone I loved sitting around the same table.
Just us.
And if that isn't the definition of having everything, I don't know what is.
P.S. If you're lucky enough to still have your parents or grandparents around, go visit them. Sit at their table. Ask them to tell you that story you've heard a hundred times. Eat the food. Take the pictures. Stay a little longer.
Because one day, you might find yourself willing to give absolutely anything for one more ordinary afternoon. And trust me, there is nothing ordinary about it.
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