*Full moon rising over Grand Mesa cross country ski trails*

Over the last month on Substack and other digital platforms (oh the irony), I’ve been seeing a ton of solution-oriented content around creating an “analog” 2026 in response to the technocratic challenges of 2025.

I appreciate that there’s some kind of collective agreement that we’re in need of something to make 2026 less of an energetic sufferfest. And I’m glad we’re all seemingly in this together.

HOWEVER.

This whole “analog” trend is incredibly bizarre. It’s got that cottage core, I’m-free-from-the-shackles-of-the-internet-while-still-regularly-using-the-internet vibe about it that makes me deeply skeptical.

If you don’t know what I’m talking about, just search “analog” on Substack or even on Google and you’ll see thousands of cringe-y results about how you are just one mp3 player and bag full of yarn scraps and jigsaw puzzles away from changing your entire life in 2026.

I just think there’s something concerning about needing a very prescriptive set of instructions for how to move away from ads and algorithms via an algorithm that is currently promoting the word “analog” with a motive to keep you consuming as much of that content as possible. And sure, I’d rather see folks reading articles and missives on Substack about escaping the digital world than devouring even more hours of mindless short-form video content, but I’m getting “evangelical soapbox preacher” vibes from this analog trend and also whiffs of snake oil.

Let me be clear. This sentiment is not coming from someone who had an incredible, blissful year with no notes for the next rotation around the sun.

2025 kicked my ass.

I found myself uncharacteristically overwhelmed in 2025. My calendar was too full and yet it also felt like I somehow didn’t do anything—a combination ripe for burnout. The overwhelm transformed into dissociation. By December, reality was dissipating—as though I could stick my hand in front of my face and watch it dissolve.

And yet.

I was (darkly) comforted that so many other people felt very, VERY similarly. My friends. Random people on the internet. People in my community. I don’t think there’s some giant mystery about the collective toughness of 2025. The difficulties of the last year likely have everything to do with a second Trump administration, extreme economic woes, the alignment of planets probably, headlines so dire you might as well not get out of bed, tech and AI dominating our day-to-day existence, and a sense of ever-deepening political polarization.

Whether you follow planetary astrology, political astrology, or economic astrology, let’s just say Mercury was metaphorically in the microwave all year long across every sector that modernity has the unfortunate audacity to exist within.

Unfortunately, my job is massively influenced by the political tides in Washington, and because it is my first time at this particular job during this particular Trump administration, I had no idea how insidious that direct cord to D.C. political energy could be—reaching its oily fingers all the way out to me in the Colorado desert.

And while I really do wish an NPR tote bag full of scrapbooking materials and my 2008 iPod Nano had the power to improve these horrendous working conditions, I just don’t think a person can safely listen to Fall Out Boy’s Take This To Your Grave album enough times to get through 52 straight weeks of red alert urgency on a national and global scale.

I get the feeling a lot of other people didn’t fully realize how cunning the political energy was, either—even if their jobs and lives were seemingly separated from the Hill. Even if they swore off the news. Even if they deleted Instagram. Even if they crocheted a hundred lumpy scarves while watching VHS tapes of Friends.

And while I do think I would have been less stressed if I could have had my work emails delivered to me slowly each week via carrier pigeon (the kind of analog trend I could get behind), I think it is far too reductive—bordering on unreasonable—to assume that people could fix this collective malaise by changing nothing else about their lives other than simply cutting out some digital distractions.

Last week, on New Year’s Eve, I reached out to a couple of friends to see if anyone wanted to ring in the New Year (i.e., meet up at 6pm and be in bed by 9pm) by riding bikes out in the desert in the dark with just some bike lights.

The five of us were out on 18 Road by dark, freezing our asses off in the parking lot, strapping lights to our mountain bikes.

Within minutes pedaling up the climb, we were warm and toasty (and already sweaty) under our layers, gabbing about our lives since we’d last seen each other on Halloween. Our lights bobbed and weaved over the packed dirt and we howled with laughter down the first descent as the shadows and reflections played tricks on us in the dark.

Everyone wanted a second lap.

When we finished racing through the hills of the Bookcliffs, we huddled in the gravel parking lot around a propane heater and told each other stories until we were all in tears with laughter.

“It’s so nice to have friends who wanted to do something dumb like this on New Year’s Eve,” one friend remarked. Yeah, I thought, maybe 2026 is about doing more dumb things.

A few nights later, another friend invited me out to ski the Mesa on the full moon and I of course said yes. I picked up cross-country skis from the rental shop for $25, and up we went to the mesa-top just as night fell over the pines.

Even through the dense (bizarre) fog that lay heavy over the valley, we could see the moon rising up through the trees, the snow well illuminated. We howled like wild wolves into the thick, wet night, and coyotes all over the Mesa howled back.

It’s the end of a two-week break from work (I know, #BLESSED), but I knew the whole time that the break alone wouldn’t be enough to cure my burnout. Time off from work is useful, but it rarely accomplishes anything for me on its own.

What started to carve out the mushy over-ripeness of workplace burnout, however, were these small outdoor adventures with people I really enjoy. It is incredible what a couple of bike rides, some night skiing, and a horseback ride out in the hills with friends did not only for my mental health, but also for my outlook on life.

As the great machine of work groans and creeks back into motion this morning, I have to admit that I’m mentally still dreaming up my next adventures for 2026 and—more importantly—who I want to do these adventures with.

I had a difficult 2025 for many reasons outside of my control, but also for many reasons well within my control. As much as I would love to sit here and lament that AI and algorithms and purposefully addictive digital technologies made 2025 a scary place to exist in (they did!), the reality is that I spent an awful lot of the year locked inside my own head trying to “rest” from my incredible work burnout, which only exacerbated my overthinking and overwhelm.

The thing is, I didn’t need more rest, or physical DVDs instead of streaming services, or less screen time, or nervous system regulation techniques.

What I needed was fun.

But it seemed at every turn, fun was a disappearing resource. We couldn’t have fun at work anymore because of the seriousness of the Trump administration. I wasn’t allowed to have fun with my horse because I needed to be a serious equestrian and never make a mistake with this animal. I couldn’t have fun riding my bike because I needed to train for races (ugh, I freaking KNEW that was going to happen). I couldn’t have fun writing because I needed to get serious and bring this book proposal to life.

I couldn’t have fun with my friends because I was too busy lamenting my career and trying to figure out what the hell it was I was going to do with my life. I couldn’t have fun because I was deep in my thoughts, deep in my own world, and completely disconnected from enjoyment.

And I suppose that’s my issue with this “analog year” business. While I certainly think some folks would probably do well to be less online, I also think this “very serious” dive into everything analog during these “very serious technological times” is just another way in which people will find themselves inadequate and lacking in enjoyment. I have a feeling most folks simply need to take a step back from the seriousness they’ve created for themselves (myself included) and just have a little freakin’ fun this year.

I think we need to go do some dumb things. Work up a sweat. I think we need to go outside when it’s dark and cold and laugh about it. I think we need to have fun when we’re tired and burned out from our day jobs. I think we need to have fun even when the headlines say we’ve gone to war over oil reserves again. I think we definitely need to have fun with our friends even when we’re broke and hungry and overstimulated. We need to have fun even if we haven’t perfectly regulated our nervous systems, or whatever the new healing expectation-du-jour is.

I think it is unlikely that any of us will have a better 2026 with even more seriousness, more rest, more gentleness, or more threats to delete whatever app on our phone is consuming most of our attention. I think we just need to pencil a little fun onto the calendar.

The analog stuff sounds nice and all, but all those recommendations (reading, knitting, puzzling, etc.) are heavily focused on what a person does with their alone time and don’t offer much in the way of being social and having a good time. So maybe instead of carefully crafting how to spend your time alone in 2026, why don’t we first start by planning all the fun things we’re going to do with other people and then see how our relationship to the digital world changes after that?

(And to be honest, I’d way rather read your Substacks about that than the fact that you read a print newspaper).

I definitely don’t think anyone needs an “analog bag” full of more shit from Hobby Lobby that’s likely to end up in the landfill in a couple of months. But I do think we need to make plans and keep our commitments with our friends. And I think we’ve got to get courageous and hold each other accountable for not flaking or bailing on plans. And I think we’ve got to put some holds on our calendars and actually get out of the house and get a little uncomfortable so that we can end 2026 feeling like it was meaningful and not like we got sucked into ads and algorithms.

Because the reality is that the politics aren’t going to substantially change this year (there will be new horrors every week). The economy is still going to suck (maybe even more so). And the workplace is definitely still going to be the same shitshow in 2026 that it was in 2025.

But we get to decide how serious to make 2026.

So, whatever. Get obsessed with analog stuff if you want to. Get a flip phone. Navigate while driving with a 2-inch thick road atlas. Consume only physical media. Listen to music on a phonograph. Whatever you think you’ve got to do to keep away from the addictions of digital media, AI, and algorithms.

Just promise me you won’t take any of it too seriously, okay? And maybe remind me of that along the way as well.

Do You Need An Analog Year, Or Do You Just Need To Go Have Some Fun?

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