We have all heard it. We have all said it. “Man, things were better back then.” People are always yearning for the good old days—start appreciating everything today:
Nostalgia is not a memory—it is a seductive liar.
It edits out the bad.
The ugly.
We airbrush the boredom, the limited choices, the untreated depression, the rotten teeth (yay for healthcare!) and the way information trickled so slowly that ignorance felt like wisdom. I kind of do wish we ladies were still dumb, though… I rely more on my man to know what is going on in the world so that I can just be delulu about things.
And while we are busy pining for that heavily filtered past, the actual miracles are all around us right now. We are living in the most abundant, connected, opportunistic era in human history, and most of us are too busy doom-scrolling and whining to notice.
Technology seems to be sprinting. AI that writes better essays than most college students. Instant access to the entire library of human knowledge in your pocket. You can video call your grandmother on another continent while ordering takeout that arrives piping hot. And still, people scroll past miracles to complain that their coffee order took four minutes instead of three.
This change terrifies people. It always has. That is why every generation thinks the next one is doomed. But here is my hot take: your nostalgia is a coping mechanism for your fear of the unknown. It is easier to idealize 1997 than confront 2026. People are afraid. What is going to happen tomorrow or next month?
It seems easier to romanticize rotary phones than master and learn the new tools.
Stop yearning. Start appreciating—aggressively.
The secret is not in the past. It is in the lens. Shift it—or stay miserable.
Look at your smartphone not as a distraction device but as a doorway for wonder. With it, you can learn a language in weeks, watch a live surgery in Tokyo, or hear the voice of someone who died decades ago (I know… Creepy.) We treat these luxuries like it is normal. It is not. It is insane.
We find food in our grocery stores from every corner of the world. Planes and automobiles have actually united us. We consume other cultures and cuisines. This is the true meaning of America.
Surgery and modern medicine (despite its faults) make it absolutely insane to continue complaining about the small aches and pains. Some of us do not even walk; are you really going to cry about a hangnail?
The internet has also demolished geographic and social barriers. You can meet your person- someone who actually matches your weird frequency- instead of settling for the least awful option within a 10-mile radius. I personally would despise settling down with someone from around here. The old days had arranged marriages and shotgun weddings. We now have sad dating apps and yes, we rate each other based on our looks. So yes, trade-offs exist, but pretending the past was pure romance is historical fan-fiction.
In a culture addicted to outrage and comparison, choosing to appreciate the present is rebellious. It is punk rock. It flips off the algorithm that profits from dissatisfaction. People really do love to complain, criticize, and comment.
Essentially, the world is blossoming with possibility while you are staring at old yearbooks. One thing that has always bothered me is that most of our bodies are a biological marvel capable of running, dancing, orgasming, and healing—and yet people are mad about theirs not looking like a filtered influencer. It is called do something about it—if a disabled girl can lose more than one hundred pounds, you can do anything. The body is truly a marvel.
The mind is too.
Your mind can comprehend quantum physics (or silly girly things—like writing a blog!) and write love poems, yet you use it to relive 2008 politics.
The good old days are a trap. They keep you small, bitter, and blind to the abundance screaming for your attention. Every moment you spend mourning a myth is a moment stolen from building something better.
The world is changing so fast that if you blink too long in nostalgia, you will miss the best parts of being alive right here, right now. The coffee is hot. The internet works—until the power goes out, because living in the woods is great. Your heart is beating. The future is wide open.
Appreciate it all—fiercely, obnoxiously, unapologetically.
Or keep complaining. The past will not care, and the present will keep delivering miracles whether you notice them or not.
The choice is yours. But only one of them feels like living.
Kat’s Musings 