I’ve watched my grandkids grow up with devices practically attached to their hands, and while I’m not here to sound like the “back in my day” guy, I do think they’re missing out on some genuinely good stuff.
The world has changed, and technology has brought incredible conveniences. But somewhere along the way, we’ve left behind certain experiences that had real value.
Here are eight simple pleasures that shaped my generation, and I genuinely wish younger folks would give them a try.
1. Reading a physical newspaper with morning coffee
There’s a rhythm to starting your day with an actual newspaper spread across the kitchen table.
You unfold the sections, decide what you’re in the mood for, and settle in. The weight of the paper in your hands, the slight rustle as you turn the pages, even that distinct smell of newsprint creates an experience that feels substantial.
What really sets this apart is the way it forces you to slow down. You can’t scroll past an article in half a second. You’re there, committed to reading through the whole thing because you’ve already got the paper open. This leads to discovering stories you’d never click on otherwise.
The crossword puzzle at the end is like dessert after a meal. When you complete it, there’s actual proof sitting right there on the page.
And here’s something nobody talks about anymore: you can tear out articles to save or share. Try doing that with a phone screen without it feeling like you’re just forwarding another link into the digital void.
2. Writing actual letters or cards by hand
Sitting down to write a real letter requires intention.
You have to find your stationery, pick out a pen that writes smoothly, and think about what you actually want to say before you commit it to paper. Your handwriting reveals your mood, your personality, even your age.
I still write birthday cards to each of my grandchildren every year, and I make sure to include a specific memory or observation about them from the past year.
My grandson told me recently that he keeps all of them in a shoebox under his bed. That hit me harder than I expected. He’ll have those physical cards for the rest of his life, in my actual handwriting, long after I’m gone.
The act of writing by hand changes what you say and how you say it. You’re more thoughtful because you can’t just dash off whatever pops into your head.
Plus, receiving real mail that someone took the time to write, address, stamp, and send has become rare enough that it actually means something now.
3. Long phone conversations on a landline
Remember when phone calls meant actually talking?
You’d settle into a comfortable spot, maybe stretch the cord as far as it would go into another room for privacy, and have real conversations that lasted hours.
Without the ability to multitask on the same device, you were fully present.
My sister and I used to have marathon phone calls every Sunday evening, catching up on the week’s events, discussing family matters, or just rambling about nothing in particular.
Those calls built our relationship in ways that our current text exchanges simply don’t replicate.
There was something grounding about being tethered to one spot during these conversations. The conversation was the event, the entire focus of that time.
When someone called, you knew they wanted to connect, truly connect, which is different from the constant low-level contact we have now through messaging.
4. Browsing physical photo albums
What makes flipping through an old photo album special? You turn the pages slowly, sometimes carefully peeling back the plastic covering to get a better look at a faded picture.
The weight of the album in your lap, the slight crackle of the binding, the way some photos have started to yellow at the edges — all of it contributes to the experience of remembering.
When you sit down with a photo album, particularly with family members, something magical happens. Someone points at a picture and says, “Oh, do you remember when…” and suddenly you’re all transported back.
My mother kept meticulous albums, and after she passed, we spent an entire weekend going through them, my siblings and I. We laughed and cried and argued about details we each remembered differently.
Turning a page reveals photos you’d completely forgotten about: a random Thursday afternoon at the beach, your dad making a silly face at the camera, a pet you haven’t thought about in decades.
These unexpected rediscoveries create genuine moments of joy and nostalgia that scrolling through date-stamped digital files can’t quite match.
5. Playing cards or board games face-to-face
I learned poker from my father at our kitchen table when I was twelve. He taught me the rules, sure, but he also taught me how to read people, how to manage risk, when to fold even if you wanted to keep playing.
We’d play with my uncles every Friday night, and those games were about ribbing each other, telling stories, building relationships.
Board games and card games create a specific kind of social space. Everyone’s sitting around the same table, making eye contact, responding to each other’s reactions in real time.
The game provides structure, but the real entertainment comes from the human interaction happening around it.
Shuffling cards with your hands, rolling dice and hearing them clatter across the table engage you differently than tapping a screen. When you’re playing a board game, everyone’s phones typically get ignored for a while. You’re all engaged in the same activity, without the constant pull of digital distractions.
6. Puttering in the garden
Gardening puts you in direct contact with something living and patient.
You can’t rush a tomato plant or convince a rosebush to bloom ahead of schedule. The garden operates on its own timeline, and your job is to work within that reality.
Getting your hands in the soil, pulling weeds, and deadheading flowers are repetitive tasks free your mind to wander.
In fact, some of my best thinking happens while I’m out in the garden, not because I’m trying to solve problems but because my hands are busy and my mind is allowed to drift.
There’s real satisfaction in seeing direct results from your efforts. You plant seeds, you water and weed, and eventually you harvest vegetables or enjoy flowers.
Not only that, but you’re also outside, breathing fresh air, moving your body in varied ways. Watching plants grow through the seasons creates a different relationship with time and connects you to natural cycles we’ve largely insulated ourselves from.
7. Actually getting lost and finding your way
Getting lost used to be an adventure, though you probably didn’t feel that way in the moment.
You’d be driving somewhere unfamiliar, realize you’d missed your turn, and suddenly you were in uncharted territory.
Your options were limited: stop and ask someone for directions, pull out a map, or just keep driving and hope you eventually recognized something.
I once got thoroughly lost trying to find a client’s office in an unfamiliar city. I ended up stopping at a gas station where an old guy gave me directions and drew me a little map on the back of a receipt.
We chatted for fifteen minutes about the neighborhood. I made it to my meeting late but with a story to tell and a strange sense of accomplishment.
These experiences built confidence. You learned to pay attention to your surroundings, to remember landmarks, to develop a sense of direction.
The unplanned discoveries were often the best part. Taking a wrong turn might lead you past an interesting restaurant or through a beautiful neighborhood you’d never have found otherwise.
8. Sitting on the porch doing nothing
This might sound like the easiest thing on this list, but doing nothing has become surprisingly difficult for most people.
Sitting on the porch in the evening, just watching the world go by, requires you to be comfortable with your own thoughts and the absence of constant stimulation.
You notice things when you’re still and quiet. The neighbor’s kid practicing basketball. The way the light changes as the sun sets. Birds establishing their evening routines.
Your neighborhood reveals itself as a living, breathing place with rhythms and patterns you’d miss if you were always rushing through.
This kind of stillness lets your mind truly rest. You’re awake and aware but not actively trying to accomplish anything. Thoughts come and go without you needing to capture them.
People actually stopped and talked more when they saw you on your porch. These micro-interactions built community in small, incremental ways.
Final thoughts
I’m not suggesting we abandon technology or pretend the old ways were perfect. But I do think there’s value in occasionally stepping away from screens and rediscovering some of these slower, more tactile experiences.
The skills and satisfactions they offer — patience, presence, genuine connection — those things matter regardless of what generation you belong to.
Maybe pick just one of these to try this week. You might be surprised at what you’ve been missing.
