Keeping Files

How the loss of small rituals, traditions, and anchors left us efficient, but untethered.

I’m in a season of my life where I’ve been more alone than ever before. That kind of solitude forces you to see things differently. I noticed that most of my free time was being spent on useless digital activity — scrolling, swiping, streaming, things that left no real trace. And it made me wonder: if someone went looking for evidence of me, what would they actually find? A few coordinates on a map app, maybe an iCloud backup. Nothing more. The longer I sat with it, the clearer it became: modern life leaves no footprints.

What are we going to pass down? A pile of fast-fashion tops and the password to our Instagram. That’s not a legacy. That’s lost luggage.

Everyone in my generation complains that something feels missing in modern life. Nostalgia has always existed, but what we’re feeling now has an edge of doom. I think I know why.

The Continuity Thread vs. The Cultural Fray

Past generations didn’t live under the tyranny of endless convenience. That lack of convenience gave their lives texture.

What they had was what I call the “Continuity Thread”: the tiny rituals, objects, and shared practices that tethered people to each other and to time itself.

That thread is unraveling. I call its unraveling the “Cultural Fray”.

Our lives have become so efficient that we’ve drifted away from the “trivial” habits that once made life feel rich. In their place, we have Uber, DoorDash, auto-pay, Snapchat (literally designed to vanish), Amazon, Venmo, YouTube tutorials, and booking apps etc. They’re useful, yes, but they hollow out the rituals that once gave life texture.

How It Plays Out

GPS on the Dashboard

• Continuity Thread: Reading maps taught people how to orient themselves in the world: which cities were near which towns, how rivers and highways connected. It was a shared ritual on road trips, with everyone involved in navigating. It built not just skill but respect for your surroundings.
• Gained: Conversational literacy (“Oh, I’ve been there, right next to ___”), sharper spatial awareness, and family participation that turned road trips into memorable events.
• In the Fray (Now): We follow the blue dot on a screen, often without knowing what’s around us. Nobody else in the car pays attention. If the phone dies, so does our sense of direction.
• Loss: Decline in awareness, fewer shared road trip memories, weaker small-talk connections, and less confidence in navigating both places and conversations.

Setting the Dinner Table

• Continuity Thread: Forks, knives, and napkins in order quietly taught etiquette without lectures. It was daily practice in respect: anticipating others’ needs and preparing for shared time together.
• Gained: Confidence in formal dining, comfort hosting, and the instinct to consider others first. Family meals became anchors for memory and conversation.
• In the Fray (Now): Dinner eaten solo, on couches, or from plastic containers. No shared preparation, no ritual of hosting, no daily etiquette practice.
• Loss: Awkwardness in formal settings, weaker instincts for courtesy, fewer family stories, and the erosion of mealtime as a cultural anchor.

The Nostalgia Loop

Nostalgia has always been part of human nature. People have always sighed about “the good old days.”

But what we’re experiencing now isn’t just wistful, it’s desperate.

Why? Because we don’t have real continuity to lean on. We’ve inherited fragments: a faded photo here, a single holiday recipe there. But not the full thread. Instead of living traditions, we’re left with recycled aesthetics.

That’s why culture feels like it’s constantly looping:

• 90s grunge returns, then Y2K, then 70s bohemian.
• TikTok obsesses over “trad wives,” “old money,” and “cottagecore.”
• Brands sell us vintage-inspired décor and fashion, stripped of meaning.

We keep resurrecting the past because we’re aching for the stability it represented — not the style itself, but the sense of being tied to something larger than ourselves.

But without the rituals and anchors that gave those eras substance, nostalgia becomes an endless costume party.

Reweaving the Thread (The Good News)

The fray isn’t permanent. Threads can be rewoven.

Every small ritual, letter, a meal, a story — is proof that continuity is still alive.

That’s what I want to explore here: how to pick up what was dropped, and how to build a life that feels like it will last.

If you’ve ever felt like something is missing, you’re in the right place.