inspo[1]: memoir musings (any thoughts I have while working on the memoir) // the Bo Burnham: INSIDE comedy special, especially the songs “30” and “Welcome to the Internet” // Mary Karr, always
Most things about adulthood in 2024 2025 are frustrating.
Case in point: I refused to call myself an “adult” until I hit 30. Now, at almost 32, I’m still not sure I’ve earned the title. These days, when someone says, “Your phones are poisoning your minds,” I don’t immediately dismiss it as out-of-touch boomer drivel. I wonder if Bo Burnham was onto something. But if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s this: I am endlessly grateful for growing up in the early aughts.
Unlike today’s hyper-connected kiddos, 90s-born millennials had the gift of a childhood that was mostly tech-free. Back then, I found this limitation deeply annoying. How dare I not have an iPad in third grade? But looking back, I realize just how lucky I was to exist in that sliver of time when boredom was an art form, and creativity was the only cure.
“Could I interest you in everything?
All of the time?
A little bit of everything
All of the time…”— Welcome to the Internet, Bo Burnham
The first computer in our home was powered by dial-up—a sound that still haunts my dreams. My middle school typing class taught us the sacred home row (A-S-D-F, J-K-L-;). And my first flip phone? It had one job: making calls. (Unless you were a T9 texting prodigy, in which case, congratulations on your honorary degree in Patience and Thumb Dexterity.)
Without constant notifications or curated content, we had no choice but to engage with the world. Imagination wasn’t optional; it was survival. And sometimes, I wonder: If I’d been born just a few years later, would I still have this rich, vivid inner world? Or would I have grown up faster, trading make-believe for memes?
Don’t get me wrong.
I’m not here to romanticize the past or bash the present. We’re all shaped by the time we’re born into, the tech we’re handed, and the countless variables that make us human. I don’t have all the answers (or even most of them). But I do know this: adapting to a world of “everything, all of the time” requires us to hold onto the parts of ourselves that predate it.
For me, that means diving into the past while writing my memoir. Revisiting a childhood straddling the analog and digital worlds has been humbling. It reminds me that the grace period millennials had—those fleeting years of dial-up and typing classes—shaped not just our imaginations but also our resilience.
So, here’s to holding onto our dial-up dreams. Let us remember the beauty of being bored. Because in a world that demands “everything,” sometimes, nothing is the greatest gift of all.
“Apathy’s a tragedy
And boredom is a crime
Anything and everything
All of the time”— Welcome to the Internet, Bo Burnham
[1] Inspo, shorthand for inspiration, is a new section I’d like to include in all my future blog posts. Mostly, I plan on using it to share what inspired me to write a given post. This should allow me to shed light on other works by fellow creatives, spreading the love by supporting others in the arts. (I might move this section to the bottom of future posts, should it prove distracting!)
Discover more from I love you so
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
Another wonderful post, Kenzie – your writing is beautiful, clear, fun, interesting and insightful Love the added “inspo” section!
My favorite line – which I plan to use this week and will credit you – “Let us remember the beauty of being bored.” Amen to that.
Side note: every time I see a photo of you from your childhood my first thought is that it is of your mom! (uncanny, how much you resemble her!) My own little bit of nostalgia, back to childhood……
Thank you, Ms. Darlene. A lot of this post is a call back to Bo’s comedy special, which I think of as inspirational, much like Mary Karr. I’d like to be more like him with my writing, but of course keep my own voice, so the “inspo” section is my way of acknowledging all these artists who have shaped my work over the years. If you haven’t seen it yet, it’s worth a watch. “Healing the world with comedy” likely won’t help you much right now, but it can be a soothing balm. I’m sorry to miss you this weekend, but I understand why. Sending you lots of love.