I remember the dial up sound over the clanging of pots in the kitchen as my mother prepared dinner. It was during this window of time, my sisters and I were allowed a supervised session to explore the wild, wild internet, that is, if our homework and chores were done.
We didn’t know what we were doing. Hitting up chat rooms. It was a new game and one that seemed dangerous. Every morning, my mother made sure I had a quarter in my pocket for the payphone. Most days, I walked from school to work, where I called to check in with her before my shift at the local pizza parlor.
Contrary to what some might believe, life with wifi was neither dull nor boring. More people recognized each other that’s for sure. We certainly acknowledged each other in a way that has been lost now that we all have the itch to stare out our screens whenever there even the briefest moment of downtime.
I remember journaling after school whenever I could take the long way home. The way the chain link fence felt against my back. The way the light slipped its fingers through the leaves and found new places to explore on the forest floor. Privacy felt pure back then. My thoughts more isolated without social media and platforms for posting.
It was easier to pretend that some things couldn’t be contaminated before the internet made everything viral.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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