The Finite Math of a Meaningful Life
We often live as though time is an infinite resource, a well that will never run dry. But I recently stumbled across a calculation that stopped me mid-scroll: If you are forty years old, you have, statistically, about 36 Christmases left. Give or take a few, that number is a jarring bit of arithmetic. It’s not meant to be morbid; it’s meant to be a wake-up call. For those of us in the Millennial camp and older, we’ve spent the last two decades at the epicenter of a digital revolution. We were the "pioneers" of the pocket-sized distraction. But looking back at those twenty years, how much of that time was spent with our chins tucked to our chests, illuminated by the artificial glow of a five-inch screen?
The Analog Reclamation
As we wrap up February and look toward the rest of this year, I want us to lean into a radical idea: The most profound things in life do not require a Wi-Fi connection.
Analog living isn't about being a luddite or throwing your phone into a creek (though some days, the temptation is real). It is about intentionality. It’s about choosing the "slow" version of a task because the slow version is where the humanity lives.
• The Weight of Paper: A text message is a notification; a handwritten letter is a relic. It carries the pressure of your hand and the smudge of your ink.
• The Unfiltered Conversation: When we sit across from someone without a device on the table, we reclaim the "dead air." We notice the micro-expressions, the pauses, and the genuine laughter that doesn't need an emoji to translate.
• The Tactile World: Getting back to analog means working with our hands—gardening, woodworking, or simply flipping through a physical book. It grounds us in the now.
Our Remaining 36
If we truly only have a few dozen seasons left to see the frost on the pumpkins or the first buds of spring, is this how we want to spend them? Do we want to be "connected" to everyone, yet present with no one?
The beauty of the "Country Road" philosophy has always been about the journey, not the arrival. Analog living is the gravel under your tires. It’s dusty, it’s a bit slower, and it requires your full attention—but the view is infinitely better than anything you’ll find in an app.
Let’s commit to making the next 36 years count. Let's put the phones down, look each other in the eye, and start living a life that is felt, not just viewed.
A Note to the Community
I’m so grateful to be walking this path with you. As we build out the rest of this year, I want this column to be our shared porch—a place to set aside the digital noise and remember what it sounds like to just be.
