Remembering Life Before the Internet

Today’s writing prompt: Do you remember life before the internet?

I almost laughed. Do I remember? Friend, I lived it.

I grew up in the sticks of rural Rhode Island during the 1980s. That’s right—good old dial-the-rotary-phone, only-3-channels-on-TV, get-called-in-when-the-streetlights-come-on-but-we-had-no-streetlights Rhode Island. We didn’t just live without the internet. We didn’t even know what it was yet. If someone said “online,” you probably thought they were waiting at the DMV.

Our house was tucked deep into the woods where the only network we had was the tangle of branches between the oak trees and the occasional squirrel on surveillance. We were a one-phone-household with a super long cord that stretched across the kitchen like a tripwire of teenage secrets. And Google? Honey, Google was called your mother, and half the time her answer was, “Look it up!”

Looking it up meant grabbing your bike, maybe a backpack if you were fancy, and peddling your way to the library. We didn’t have GPS. We had tire tracks, instincts, and hope. The library was my happy place, and the card catalog my favorite past time. I would wander through dusty Dewey Decimal drawers like a pilgrim in search of wisdom. Finding an answer could take an entire afternoon. And if the book you needed was already checked out? You just had to wait. No eBooks. No Kindle. Just the ticking clock of patience and the slightly judgmental stare of the librarian.

I remember spending hours trying to figure out if spiders were insects (they’re not) or how long a giraffe’s tongue is (18–20 inches, you’re welcome). Today, you just shout at Alexa with jelly on your fingers and get an answer in 0.2 seconds. Back then, we earned our knowledge one paper cut at a time.

And oh, how differently the world moved.

Time used to stretch out like a summer afternoon. Conversations weren’t interrupted by dings or buzzes. You had to be present—because nobody was going to text you a reminder. If you wanted to hang out with a friend, you biked to their house and knocked on the door (GASP). If they weren’t home, you’d ride to the next friend’s house. Friendships were built on shared effort, not shared Wi-Fi.

Now the world fits in our pocket. We can FaceTime people in France, scroll through someone’s breakfast in Tokyo, and get breaking news from around the globe—all before we’ve even finished our coffee. It’s miraculous in many ways, but it’s also dizzying.

Life moves faster now. We scroll more than we speak. We’ve traded long talks for quick texts, slow growth for instant gratification, and curiosity for convenience. We have access to nearly everything, but sometimes it feels like we appreciate less.

I’m not anti-internet. Goodness, no. The internet is how I share my heart with you right now. It’s how I podcast, write, and encourage women across the world. It’s given us a voice, a platform, and a way to connect that I never could’ve imagined as a girl pedaling to the library with a notebook and a pencil stub.

But still, part of me misses the slow days. The ones where the answers weren’t immediate, but the moments mattered more. The days when your bike was your ride, your legs were your engine, and your questions led you on an adventure instead of a hyperlink.

So yes, I remember life before the internet.

And I remember it fondly.

Because even though the world is smaller now, some of the biggest things—connection, curiosity, love—are still best experienced unplugged.

Here’s to remembering… and to rediscovering the joy of slow.

With grace and gratitude,
Regina
Writer. Speaker. Rural Rhode Island Survivor.

Were you an ‘80s kid too? Or remember life before the web?
Share your favorite pre-internet memory in the comments. Let’s celebrate the slower days together.