The World I Grew Up In, and the One We Live In Now

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I was born in the mid 60s, which means my sense of culture was shaped before everything became searchable, sortable, and constantly explained. I grew up in a time when images, ideas, and political attitudes arrived quietly and stayed with you for months or even years because of how they felt, not because of how loudly they announced themselves. You didn’t go looking for culture back then. You absorbed it.

Lately, as I’ve been writing, I’ve realized that many of my observations are really about the distance between then and now. In the 1970s, culture moved at a different pace. There were fewer voices, but they were shared. Television schedules were communal, and magazines were passed around. Political events unfolded through a small number of common channels, which meant disagreement existed, but so did a shared frame of reference.

Social life felt more physical, and political life felt less omnipresent. Posters went up on bedroom walls and album covers were studied, not skimmed. Political debates happened, sometimes intensely, but they didn’t follow you everywhere or demand constant participation. There was more space between moments—more time to think, to sit with uncertainty, to change your mind without being watched.

What feels most different now isn’t just technology, but how we relate to culture and politics themselves. Images are instantly questioned, categorized, and challenged. Political language is faster and sharper, often performative. We’re encouraged to declare positions immediately, to explain ourselves constantly, and to treat every image or idea as a test of allegiance rather than an invitation to reflect.

Some of the posts I’m writing will reflect that reality directly. I don’t pretend to be politically neutral, and I don’t feel any need to be. My views were shaped by the times I grew up in, the things I witnessed, and the changes I’ve lived through. In certain pieces, I will clearly define my position on the political spectrum. That isn’t something I’m ashamed of or embarrassed by—it’s simply part of being honest about perspective.

That said, my goal isn’t to provoke outrage. It’s context. Culture and politics don’t exist in isolation, and pretending otherwise would be dishonest. Where earlier eras allowed images and moments to be imperfect, ambiguous, or simply familiar, the current moment often demands clarity, intent, and constant justification. Writing from a clear point of view feels more truthful than pretending none exists. 

None of this is about claiming one era was better than another. Change is inevitable, and much of it has brought greater awareness and inclusion. But there is something worth remembering about the texture of an earlier cultural rhythm—one that allowed shared experiences to exist without constant commentary, and political differences to coexist without defining every interaction.

As I continue writing, my aim isn’t to preserve the past or reject the present. It’s to document the experience of having lived on both sides of a cultural shift—social, political, and technological—and to reflect on how those changes have reshaped the way we see, argue, and understand one another. If you were there, you likely recognize the feeling. If you weren’t, I hope these reflections offer a glimpse into a world that moved more slowly, spoke more quietly, and—at times—felt easier to live with.