A Childhood of Simpler Screens

I was born in 1990, right at the edge of the analog world and the dawn of the digital age. My earliest memories are of cassette tapes, dial-up tones, and weekend mornings spent biking with friends until the streetlights came on. Back then, life felt grounded. Information came from books, news arrived once a day, and family dinners were sacred, not streamed.

Yet, even as I was learning how to ride a bike without training wheels, the world outside my neighborhood was already changing faster than any of us could comprehend. Technology wasn’t just advancing—it was accelerating. And like many kids of my generation, I would find myself caught in the undertow of that evolution.

The Digital Tsunami

By the time I was ten, floppy disks had given way to CDs, and computers were no longer novelty items—they were necessities. I remember the first time my family got an internet connection. It was slow, fragile, and magical. I could suddenly connect with someone across the globe. I could ask questions and find answers instantly. It felt like opening a secret door into a world I had only seen in movies.

But with that magic came complexity. Social media emerged while I was in high school. At first, it was fun—MySpace pages and awkward Facebook selfies. But slowly, the nature of interaction changed. Validation began to come in likes and shares rather than eye contact and laughter. Social comparison crept in quietly, gnawing at self-worth in ways we didn’t yet understand.

Adapting to Shifts

As I matured, so did the world around me—smartphones, climate crises, globalization, and conversations about identity, race, and equality became unavoidable. I grew up with encyclopedias and graduated with Google. I wrote handwritten letters to pen pals and then learned to network on LinkedIn. My world was both expanding and fracturing, giving me access to unprecedented knowledge and challenges alike.

What I realized, however, was that adaptability was my generation’s quiet superpower. We didn’t resist the change—we surfed it. We learned to self-teach, unlearn biases, and navigate dual worlds—the physical and the virtual—often simultaneously.

The Gift of Dual Perspective

Today, I feel fortunate to have known both worlds: the tactile innocence of a pre-digital childhood and the limitless possibility of the digital present. This duality gifted me with balance—a respect for slowness and presence, alongside an appreciation for speed and innovation.

Growing up in a changing world wasn’t always easy. There was confusion, overwhelm, and a constant pressure to keep up. But it was also a rare and valuable education—one that taught me how to evolve without losing myself. It taught me that change isn’t the enemy; stagnation is.

And in embracing that truth, I’ve found peace in the chaos and hope in the flux.