“What’s old is new again” may be one of the truest observations about human behavior ever written.

Almost everything eventually circles back into vogue. Of course, we all hope a few things never return to the top:  the AMC Gremlin (or Pacer), five-inch collars, cigarette smoke in restaurants, shag carpeting in harvest gold, lawn darts as a “children’s game”, rotary phones during emergencies, and avocado green appliances.  But it is remarkable how future generations rediscover the gems of the past and carry them forward with just enough modernization to make them feel new again.

It is why we remake classic television, revisit Roman texts, and still quote writers like Shakespeare and Homer centuries later.

But we are also easily tripped up in the rush to advance, modernize, and “make things better.”

We are so busy celebrating technology for being “simple” and “informative” that we forget more than we learn.

When is the last time you memorized someone’s phone number? Do you even know your own number, or do you have to look at your phone?

When we were young, we called home from school phones or pay phones. We called our friends simply to chat; we did not have them gathered into text threads and group messages. We sat on the kitchen steps with a long phone cord stretched across the room and “caught up” to see how someone truly was.

Now don’t get me wrong, I love my cell phone. As a young parent, it was the only reason I felt comfortable leaving home when my child struggled with separation anxiety, because I knew I could be reached at a moment’s notice. I also love being able to track my loved ones as they travel and know they are safe on the road.

These are modernizations that genuinely bring relief and joy.

But recently, I had been feeling overstimulated, so I decided to trade my Apple Watch for the beloved stainless steel watch my husband gave me twenty-five years ago.  My wrist went analog...

It took a few days to stop instinctively looking at my wrist, and I do miss the timer that reminded me not to leave the water trough hydrant running while doing chores....I have done that more times than I care to admit.

But eventually, I adjusted.

Now, a month later, I realize how happy I am without the constant tapping on my wrist from my phone. It was nearly nonstop: reminders, texts, emails, calls, spam, apps, ping, ping, ping…

Surely this affects our cortisol, our psyche, our hearts, our bodies.

Release, release, release.

As I reflect, I realize I have been drifting more and more toward analog life without even noticing.

My 1980’s John Deere tractor that still starts with that familiar rumble.
Our beloved Beast — the 1960’s Land Rover with an old tachometer and giant carburetor, no electronics anywhere.
Sitting outside at dusk without needing entertainment piped into your ears. Slow-aging perfume oils instead of producing “fast fragrance.  Repairing things instead of replacing them.  Turning pages in old cookbooks instead of scrolling recipes.
The Weber kettle instead of the finicky and remarkably inefficient digital pellet grill.
Candles on the table when we eat dinner outside after dark.
And the simple act of writing with pen and paper instead of a keyboard.

The words flow to my hand and pen in a way they never do on a keyboard.

Now to be fair, I will absolutely take a photo of these pages and let a large language model convert them to text for me.

I do live in 2026, after all.

But I am finding that my lizard brain is much happier experiencing daily life this way.

The true art of life is balance:

work / life
rest / work
analog / digital

This is simply one more small realization in the ongoing search for balance.

Will I give up my beloved 2022 Suburban with GPS, WiFi, and every modern convenience imaginable?

Absolutely not.

But do I need to drive the Beast regularly — no radio, no air conditioning, plenty of road noise, and an occasional mysterious smell of gasoline?

Absolutely.

It just feels so right.