
Congresswoman Maxine Waters made a procedural catchphrase iconic during a House Financial Services Committee hearing in July 2017: “Reclaiming my time.” In similar fashion, Gen Z and millennials are reclaiming their own, swapping algorithmic scrolling for intentional hobbies and offline experiences. As an elder millennial, I’m with them.
With the rise of social media algorithms, constant notifications, and AI-assisted tools, the sense of constant connectivity is overwhelming. Having to show up for every ping, like and comment can sometimes feel daunting.
As an introvert, it is always a struggle to show up in a high-energy world, where small talk feels excessive. I prefer one-on-one interactions and to say something meaningful and long-lasting rather than to ask the obligatory: “How was your weekend? How about those [insert favorite sports team]?”
Susan Cain explains us quiet types this way in Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking: “They prefer to devote their social energies to close friends, colleagues, and family. They listen more than they talk, think before they speak, and often feel as if they express themselves better in writing than in conversation.”
She continued, “They tend to dislike conflict. Many have a horror of small talk but enjoy deep discussions.”
This is why the return to analog living is such a relief. The online world of content and conversations are unceasing. There is a watercooler in every corner of the internet.
There are no pauses for reflection. Driven by rapid response times, you cannot sleep on it. Strangers want to know your take on this or that event and suddenly, you’re reporting live morning, noon and night for an online audience.
Digital fatigue is increasingly common in an always-on world and like many others, I have found the off button in physical, tactile hobbies. Bring out the crossword puzzles and the board games.
Last year, I bought a record player and have also returned to journaling, pen to page. It is a reorientation, a change of rhythm and pace that feels more natural to me.
Analog living isn’t necessarily about abandoning technology forever, but rather about creating intentional, tech-free spaces to restore balance.
I’m not asking you to toss your smartphone in a river. Instead, it’s about curating boundaries so technology serves you, rather than the other way around.
It is a desire to move away from disposable, endless digital content toward things that are permanent and require active engagement. Also driven by subscription fatigue, which means we never actually own anything and the rise of AI, people are ditching algorithms in favor of off-grid experiences.
This has led me to visit more libraries, museums and parks. It turns out that “touching grass,” an internet retort for folks who spend too much time online and in senseless arguments, is quite healing. You can reclaim focus and your nervous system by stepping away from the constant connectivity of the digital world.
The “analog renaissance,” a growing cultural movement marked by a return to face-to-face encounters to counteract screen fatigue and digital burnout, is growing. This is also known as digital minimalism, which Cal Newport defines in Digital Minimalism: Choosing a Focused Life in a Noisy World as “a philosophy of technology use in which you focus your online time on a small number of carefully selected and optimized activities that strongly support things you value and then happily miss out on everything else.”
So, grab your “Analog Bag” if you’re with me. Swap your oversized bag for a curated analog one filled with colored pencils, crossword puzzles, and actual paper magazines to occupy a commute or downtime.
This resurgence is ultimately a rebellion against the fleeting nature of digital content. It represents a desire to reclaim ownership of media, slow down, and find deeper, more authentic meaning in everyday life. So, this digital disconnection is also anti-capitalism, an economic and political system I’m also tired of.

