On Analog Life Cravings
I can’t possibly be the only one who craves a fully unplugged, offline life. The thought alone drowns me in serenity.
Last week, for reasons unknown even to God, I re-downloaded TikTok and Instagram. I just wanted to see what was going on there.
Let me tell you—too much.
Within hours, I was back in that toxic cycle: scroll, put the phone down, pick it up again without purpose. By the end of the day, I felt restless, overstimulated, and slightly fried—like my brain needed to be rinsed and hydrated. The illusion that scrolling is relaxing is one of the most dangerous modern myths.
The Call of the Analog
Social media and I have never been friends. It’s a classic toxic relationship: too tempting to leave, but too harmful to stay. The idea of an analog life—one of tangibility, slowness, simplicity—feels like coming home.
I often think about what we can learn from the pre-digital generations.
At the elderly home where I work, I ask my residents with Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s what their ordinary days used to look like. The women usually smile and say:
“Well dear, there’s always chores to be done! Food to be made and a family to care for. If there’s time left, I knit. Or read.”
And the men say:
“There’s always work to do in the garden. Maybe read a book, go for a walk or cycle for the day. Enjoy a beer at the end.”
I don’t know exactly why their answers move me so much. Maybe because our lives rarely look—or feel—like that anymore. The idea of simply living your day: doing your work, tending to your home, spending time with loved ones… without digital interference. It’s magnetic.
Creating instead of consuming. Reading a book as your daily dose of input. Listening to a full album, start to finish, without skipping. Walking quietly to ease the mind. Going for coffee just because.
It’s not just nostalgia—it’s a longing for the realness of life.
From Consumer to Creator
Living offline nourishes creativity tenfold. Sure, the digital world is full of inspiration—but your mind is its own infinite library. Everything you’ve seen, felt, and lived is material for creation. Use it. Be it. Live it.
There’s something sacred about creating with your own hands—a meal, a song, a painting, a garden. A sensory act that grounds you in the present.
Practical Steps (Without Moving to a Cabin in the Woods… Yet)
Use a paper agenda.
Read physical books.
Set screen boundaries—no phone before 10 a.m. or after 6 p.m. (try the Forest app).
Start one analog hobby (just one for now).
Write freely in a journal.
Take a phoneless walk.
Buy a disposable camera and enjoy the surprise of developed photos.
Make art in any form: cook, sing, dance, paint, build.
If you can, switch to a flip phone. I’m still searching for one with WhatsApp (Europe problems). For now, my laptop handles the rest—and anyone who really needs me can just call.
The Spirituality of Simplicity
Living with fewer distractions pulls you back into the present. Flow states become easier to reach. Peace becomes tangible. Of course, it takes more than putting your phone away—but it’s a beautiful start.
Try this: imagine your 80-year-old self, sitting content in a sunlit chair, knowing everything turned out just right. This older you can visit this very day—you, right now. What would they do differently? What would they let go of?
Life is happening right in front of us. Dreams are meant to be built within time, not outside of it. Live it with awareness.
Offline might just be the new luxury.
—Nina
