I’ve been seeing the word analog everywhere in the planner and stationery space lately. And honestly, the way it’s used often feels a little condescending, especially when these conversations are happening on digital platforms in the first place. There’s something disingenuous about it.

It feels like analog has become this season’s “it” concept: something to chase, aestheticize, and package into carefully edited videos and beautifully framed photos. Everything is documented, recorded, and then shared online for consumption. Which makes the whole thing feel contradictory.

There’s nothing wrong with enjoying paper planners, handwritten notes, or slower, tactile practices. I love those things. However, when “analog” becomes a buzzword or a badge of superiority, it starts to lose its meaning. Discussing the concept of disconnecting, slowing down, or being “offline” while actively curating content for the internet creates a peculiar tension.

Maybe it’s not the idea of analog that bothers me, but the performance of it. The moment it turns into a trend rather than a personal choice, it feels less authentic and more like another aesthetic being sold back to us, just this time, wrapped in the language of simplicity.

And I’m a Gen Xer, the so-called last analog generation and the first digital one. I’ve lived fully in both worlds. I’ve done analog, and I genuinely liked it. I also like the digital age. They’re not mutually exclusive, no matter how often the conversation tries to frame them that way.

And honestly, the generational lines aren’t as clean as people like to pretend. Millennials, for example, still used VHS for a while before DVDs fully took over. I clearly remember Karissa using VHS tapes. Though if I’m being honest, that might’ve been less about nostalgia and more about the fact that VHS was cheaper than DVD at the time. Technology adoption isn’t always philosophical; it’s often practical.

Gen X, though, really got the full brunt of the awkward in-between phase. We’re the unfortunate gang who had to learn, use, and then abandon a whole parade of transitional technologies: cassette tapes to CDs, CDs to MP3s, landlines to flip phones, flip phones to smartphones, gas cars to hybrid cars. Nothing ever stayed long enough to feel settled. Just as we got comfortable, it was already obsolete.

So now it’s a little ironic to watch “analog” come back as a trend, something curated, aestheticized, and packaged as a lifestyle. For many of us, analog wasn’t a vibe or a statement. It was just… life. And maybe that’s why the whole conversation feels slightly off. Analog didn’t disappear because it was inferior; it faded because technology moved forward. Turning it into a trend now feels less like a return and more like a rebranding.

And to end this rant: Going analog is not an excuse to buy more crap. Slapping the word analog onto something doesn’t magically make it meaningful, mindful, or necessary; it just makes it another purchase dressed up as intention.

An analog lifestyle also won’t fix all your problems. You still live in a modern world. Bills are digital. Appointments are online. Work, school, healthcare, and community are deeply intertwined with technology, whether we like it or not. You can unplug for a while, and that can be genuinely restorative, but opting out completely is often more fantasy than reality.

And let’s be honest: “offline” technology isn’t the same as analog. Flip phones, digital cameras, CDs, and DVDs are still digital tools. They may feel simpler, slower, or more contained, and that has value, but they’re not some return to a pre-digital utopia. They’re just earlier versions of the same systems, running on electricity, data, and modern infrastructure.

There’s nothing wrong with choosing fewer tools, slower tools, or more intentional habits. But analog isn’t a moral high ground, and it’s not a shortcut to clarity. Sometimes it’s just another aesthetic, another trend, another way to consume, just with better lighting and a quieter vibe.

I’m writing this with a cup of coffee in hand, staying warm through this wintry start to 2026. The days have been slow, and I’m learning how to feel less guilty about moving at a deliberate pace during the first week of the year. Apparently, rest is not a moral failure. Who knew.

I’m also pretty sore, and not entirely for virtuous reasons like working out. Well, my arms are sore from working out. But the rest of me? That’s from an entirely different athletic event: tripping on the single step in the garage that leads into the house. A step I’ve successfully navigated approximately a thousand times before.

The culprit: my slippers. They are just a tad too big, which means they are cozy and a liability. But I like them! I tripped over them, met the concrete, and now I’m the proud owner of two bruises on one arm, one bruise on a knee, and another bruise on the side of the other knee, because apparently my body wanted symmetry, but in the most inconvenient way possible.

So yes, it’s been quite a morning. Coffee has become less of a beverage and more of a support system. And it’s Monday. Of course it is.

Here’s to slow days, gentle starts, intentional movement, and maybe slippers that fit a little better.

And of course, because the universe loves a good subplot, my eczema has decided to flare up. It itches. It hurts. It has opinions. I’ve put the medication on it, faithfully, like a responsible adult following instructions… and my skin has responded with, “That’s cute.”

The itchiness remains, mocking me quietly but persistently, like background noise you can’t turn off. I’m trying very hard not to scratch, because that only makes things worse, but my brain keeps whispering, “Just a little scratch won’t hurt.” Lies. All lies.

So now I’m sitting here, uncomfortable, slightly irritated (emotionally and physically), doing my best to coexist peacefully with my own skin, which, at the moment, has chosen violence.

The weekend was slow. Tommy actually had Friday and the whole weekend off, which felt nice. We worked out all weekend. Well… mostly. He had hockey on Sunday, so I did an upper-body workout in the morning while he did his hockey thing.

Tommy’s dentist appointment, however, did not work out. It was cancelled, but no one told him because they apparently didn’t have the right phone number. We discovered this fun surprise only after showing up. So that was great.

To salvage the day, we headed to the music store, where he got his saxophone fixed surprisingly fast. From there, hunger took over, and we ended up at Tacos El Muchacho Alegre, made famous (or at least heavily encouraged) by food influencers like @the.taco.fiend1. We tried the California burrito, complete with tortillas brought straight from San Diego. It was good. I gave it a solid 7.5/10. The tortilla was the real standout: not too thin, not so thick that it felt like I was chewing on a warm blanket of dough. A good tortilla matters.

After that, we stopped at the library and checked out two books from The Chronicles of Prydain. The Black Cauldron movie is loosely based on the series. They’re quick reads, and I’m enjoying the story so far.

We headed home after that, and I started making chili for dinner.

Saturday, my hair appointment was cancelled because the hairdresser was sick. I hope she feels better soon, but it was still disappointing. I’ve been really looking forward to getting all this bleached hair cut off. Fingers crossed, I can reschedule soon.

On Sunday, things were pretty low-key. We stayed home until Tommy had hockey; he had the late game. Afterward, we swung by the store just before closing to grab some meat and tortillas for his work lunches. I made him a taco bowl to take with him.

This morning, I was exhausted after only getting about four hours of sleep, so I took a nap once Tommy and Kel left for work. Alex starts college today, so he went into the city with them. Karissa’s classes start today, also, so she is busy at her computer. She is nervous about taking Biology, but I have faith in her.

We’re having a roast today. I already got it started, with the probe tucked into the meat and the thermometer sitting on my desk, quietly reporting its progress. It’s oddly satisfying to watch the temperature creep up in real time. I can keep an eye on it without even getting up… though, to be fair, I’ve already wandered into the kitchen a few times anyway.

I’m thinking mashed potatoes will happen later. Maybe some roasted carrots too. It just seems like those would go perfectly with a roast.

The roast cooked surprisingly fast, even at a low 250-degree oven. I’m hoping I did everything right. It’s resting now, which feels very official and very grown-up cook energy. This is my first time making a roast, so there’s a mix of pride, curiosity, and mild anxiety happening, like, did I just nail this, or am I about to learn a very specific lesson?

Still, there’s something really satisfying about watching the thermometer climb, pulling the roast out, and letting it rest like it knows it’s completed an important task. Fingers crossed it’s tender and juicy—and if nothing else, I tried something new, which feels like a win all on its own.

Oh! I should probably start the mashed potatoes, because nothing says calm, organized cook like realizing this at the exact moment I should have realized it ten minutes ago. Potatoes need to be cut up and boiled, which means I’m about to pretend I enjoy chopping while mentally calculating how long “too long” is before they turn to mush. At the same time, I’m starting the carrots because they need a good 20 minutes in the oven to reach that sweet spot between perfectly roasted and charcoal adjacent.

Tomorrow, Karissa and I are going on a little book-hunting adventure to see if we can score her books for less than Amazon prices.

O’Malley has once again taken up residence under my desk, directly in the danger zone. So now I’m cooking dinner while also performing a careful shuffle-step, making sure I don’t accidentally punt the cat across the room.

Alright, I’m off to focus on dinner, by which I mean juggling potatoes, carrots, a roast, and a cat, all while pretending I have this completely under control.