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What if the kind of fun that actually nourishes your mind has nothing to do with screens, trends, or even modern life at all?
Avery White / Oct 17, 2025
What if the kind of fun that actually nourishes your mind has nothing to do with screens, trends, or even modern life at all?
Sometimes I catch myself staring at a screen, switching from one app to another, looking for… something. Entertainment, distraction, connection—it’s all blurred together now.
And then I think about my parents’ generation, the boomers. They didn’t have smartphones or Netflix queues or the constant pull of notifications. But somehow, they never seemed bored.
In fact, when I ask my mom what she did for fun as a kid, she laughs. “We didn’t need much,” she says. “We had imagination, a few friends, and a lot of daylight.”
There’s something beautifully simple about that. Their lives moved at a slower pace, and entertainment wasn’t about escape—it was about engagement. They found joy in what was right in front of them, and in doing so, developed a sense of presence many of us are now trying to rebuild through mindfulness and digital detoxes.
So, let’s take a little trip down memory lane and look at what boomers actually did to entertain themselves before technology took over and what those habits can still teach us today.
Have you ever watched a group of kids create an entire world out of thin air? That was everyday life for boomers. A stick became a sword, a curb was a balance beam, and an empty lot turned into an entire kingdom.
They didn’t have screens to tell them how to play—they had to invent the story themselves.
Psychologists call this unstructured play, and it’s one of the most powerful tools for developing creativity and problem-solving skills. Without ready-made rules or flashy visuals, kids learned to use their imagination to fill in the gaps.
One of my friends once told me how she and her siblings played “spaceship” using an old refrigerator box. They spent hours taking turns being the captain, communicating with “Earth,” and pretending to dodge asteroids. It wasn’t about winning—it was about creating something together.
And that might be what’s missing from so much of our modern entertainment: participation. Instead of consuming, they were constantly creating.
I can’t remember the last time I heard a parent say, “Just go play outside and come back when it gets dark.” But for boomers, that was the norm.
Their playgrounds were backyards, creeks, and open fields. They climbed trees, rode bikes, and collected bugs in jars. There wasn’t always adult supervision, but there was freedom—the kind that lets you test your limits, get scraped knees, and discover how capable you really are.
Being outdoors for long stretches of time didn’t just build resilience; it built presence. Nature has a grounding effect that’s hard to replicate through screens. Psychologists call it attention restoration theory, the idea that natural environments help reset your brain’s ability to focus and reduce stress.
Boomers didn’t need to schedule time for a digital detox or a mindfulness walk. Their daily lives already included it.
I try to recreate that sometimes by leaving my phone at home during hikes. It’s uncomfortable at first, like I’ve left a limb behind, but within minutes, I start noticing details again: the texture of bark, the rhythm of my breath, the sound of the wind.
That’s the kind of quiet entertainment boomers grew up on.
Before Spotify playlists and endless podcasts, there was the radio and it was magic.
Families gathered around to listen to baseball games, news broadcasts, or radio dramas that played out entirely in their imaginations. You couldn’t skip ahead or replay your favorite parts. You had to listen, and that active attention made it more immersive.
There’s a psychology concept called anticipation pleasure, the joy we feel while waiting for something good. The radio gave people that every day. Whether it was waiting to hear your favorite song or tuning in for the next episode of a serial drama, the buildup was part of the experience.
I sometimes miss that sense of waiting. Everything is instant now, and because of that, we often miss the thrill of longing. Boomers knew how to savor entertainment because they didn’t have a choice. And that patience turned ordinary moments, like a favorite DJ’s voice or the crackle of a signal, into something special.
Can you imagine sitting down to write an actual letter today? Not a text, not a DM, an honest-to-goodness letter with paper, ink, and time.
For boomers, that was social networking.
They poured their thoughts onto paper, sealed them in envelopes, and waited days or even weeks for a reply. It wasn’t instant gratification—it was emotional investment.
There’s something deeply mindful about that kind of communication. Writing by hand forces you to slow down, to think before you speak (or in this case, write). Psychologists say handwriting activates parts of the brain linked to emotional processing and memory in ways typing doesn’t.
My mom still has a box of letters from her best friend in high school. When she reads them, she doesn’t just see words—she feels the person behind them. That’s a kind of intimacy our current digital world rarely captures.
Rainy days didn’t mean boredom; they meant board games.
Monopoly, Scrabble, Clue, bridge, poker—you name it. These games weren’t just entertainment; they were mini-lessons in patience, strategy, and emotional regulation.
Playing cards required attention and people skills. You had to read faces, anticipate moves, and manage your reactions. And yes, the occasional family feud over Monopoly money was all part of the fun.
What strikes me most about these games is how interactive they were. You couldn’t zone out or multitask. You had to be engaged with real people sitting across from you.
And here’s the thing: those interactions mattered. Studies have shown that in-person social play reduces cortisol levels and strengthens bonds. It’s not just about winning—it’s about belonging.
No wonder so many boomers still have fond memories of those long evenings around the table, laughter echoing long after the game was over.
We listen to music constantly now, but how often do we make it?
Boomers didn’t just stream tunes—they created them. They sang in choirs, joined garage bands, played guitars, or harmonized with friends at campfires. Even people who weren’t musicians still participated. Music was communal, not performative.
There’s something deeply healing about that. Studies show that singing in groups releases oxytocin, the bonding hormone, and lowers stress hormones like cortisol.
My dad used to tell me stories about learning guitar in college. He said the best nights weren’t the parties; they were the ones when everyone sat around singing Beatles songs until sunrise. “We weren’t good,” he’d laugh, “but we didn’t care. It just felt good to be together.”
Maybe that’s the point. Music didn’t have to be perfect—it just had to be shared.
Before screens hijacked our attention spans, reading was the go-to form of entertainment.
Boomers devoured books, magazines, newspapers, and comic strips. They read for hours, often re-reading favorites until the pages curled. There was no doomscrolling, no skimming headlines—they read deeply.
And that kind of reading does something to the mind. Neuroscientists have found that immersive reading activates the same neural pathways as real-life experience, which strengthens empathy and imagination.
That’s why stories mattered so much—they weren’t just entertainment; they were practice for understanding others.
When I was younger, my dad used to say, “Books were our escape, but they also shaped how we saw the world.” That’s the quiet power of reading—it teaches you to see life from different perspectives, something our fast-scrolling culture often forgets.
Before social media likes, there were dinner parties.
Boomers gathered people in their homes—not for show, but for connection. They cooked meals from scratch, played music, shared stories, and laughed until it hurt.
These get-togethers weren’t about aesthetic perfection. No one cared if the napkins matched or if the lighting was Instagram-worthy. What mattered was the feeling in the room.
Anthropologists often say that shared meals are one of the oldest bonding rituals in human history. They build trust, deepen empathy, and release oxytocin, the same chemical linked to emotional connection.
I try to recreate that sometimes by inviting friends over for potlucks. No fancy setup, no phones on the table. Just good food, messy laughter, and real conversation. Every time, I’m reminded: this is what it means to connect.
When you strip away the screens, what’s left?
Connection. Creativity. Presence.
The things boomers did for fun weren’t necessarily superior—they were simply more human. They reminded us that joy doesn’t have to be curated or broadcasted; it can be small, quiet, and completely unfiltered.
We chase balance now through mindfulness apps and self-care routines, but boomers lived it naturally. They didn’t have to schedule downtime—they simply lived it into their days.
And maybe that’s what we’re really nostalgic for: not the past itself, but the sense of being there—fully, without distraction.
So the next time you catch yourself reaching for your phone out of habit, maybe try something different. Write a letter. Go outside. Read a real book. Cook a meal for a friend.
You might just rediscover a kind of joy that technology can’t replicate—the kind that’s been waiting for you all along.
Formerly a financial analyst, Avery translates complex research into clear, informative narratives. Her evidence-based approach provides readers with reliable insights, presented with clarity and warmth. Outside of work, Avery enjoys trail running, gardening, and volunteering at local farmers’ markets.
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