Sometimes I look at my son, scrolling through endless digital content, and wonder if he’ll ever experience the joy of a slow afternoon spent doing absolutely nothing (and loving every second of it).
If you grew up in the ’70s, you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about: so many of our favorite moments weren’t splashy or grand—they were the small pleasures that defined our day-to-day lives.
They were the mixtapes, the lazy Sundays, and the freedom to explore without the constant ping of notifications.
There’s something so comforting in reflecting on those memories, almost like sipping a warm cup of tea and letting out a contented sigh.
And interestingly, psychologists have found that nostalgia can be powerful for well-being.
In fact, a 2015 study published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology noted that recalling positive past experiences can boost our sense of connectedness and even improve our mood.
So let’s get cozy and rewind to those simpler times. Here are eight small joys only ’70s kids truly remember.
1. The thrill of riding bicycles everywhere
I still remember the first time I hopped on my old, battered bicycle and rode off without a care. No helmets, no neon safety gear—just me (maybe with some questionable knee pads), pedaling up the street to meet friends.
There was such a sense of freedom in that. After school, a typical day involved spontaneously riding to the park, the corner store, or a friend’s house two neighborhoods away.
Our parents seemed more relaxed about letting us roam, trusting us to be back before sundown. It gave us a taste of independence we couldn’t find elsewhere.
We tested our limits and learned to navigate the world on our own terms—little did we know we were building resilience and self-confidence every time we pedaled off into the sunset.
2. Waiting for the radio to play your favorite song
Do you remember that blend of excitement and frustration that came from trying to record your favorite tune off the radio onto a cassette?
I can vividly picture myself huddled by my tape recorder, anxiously hovering over the “record” button, hoping the DJ wouldn’t start talking over the intro.
It wasn’t the most efficient system, but it was thrilling. Every time the radio DJ teased, “Coming up next, a track from Fleetwood Mac…” my heart pounded.
This small ritual taught us patience in the simplest (and perhaps silliest) way possible. And when we finally managed to snag a clean recording without any chatter? Pure gold.
Today, songs are available at the click of a button, but there was something so satisfying about working for that perfect track.
3. Saturday morning cartoons and no streaming in sight
Raise your hand if you remember sprinting out of bed on Saturday mornings, racing to the television, and adjusting the antenna just right so you could watch your favorite cartoons.
This was a cherished routine for so many of us. No DVR, no on-demand, no streaming services—if you missed your show, you missed it, and you had to wait a whole week to catch the next episode.
I can’t help but think we learned a fair bit about scheduling and gratitude from this seemingly small experience.
We had to plan our mornings around those airing times, which gave each episode a specialness you don’t always get in today’s world of endless TV marathons.
As Dale Carnegie once said, “It isn’t what you have or who you are or where you are or what you are doing that makes you happy or unhappy.
It is what you think about it.” For ’70s kids, we thought cartoons were an absolute treat, so we savored them down to the last minute.
4. Savoring the simple joys of record stores
I’d often tag along with my older cousin to our local record store after school.
Stepping inside felt like walking into another world—rows of vinyl records beckoning, each with its own art and mystique.
I remember gently flipping through them, appreciating the distinct smell of cardboard sleeves and the occasional static crackle in the air.
There was a slow magic to it. We’d hold the album in our hands, marvel at the artwork, and (if our pocket money allowed) bring it home to play on the turntable.
Later on, cassettes arrived, and the excitement only grew. We learned how to read linear notes, memorize tracklists, and look out for the next big artist.
It was a hobby that taught us about discovery and anticipation. And even though I’m more of a digital gal these days, I still feel a delightful nostalgia whenever I see a vinyl display.
5. School lunches and handwritten notes
Who could forget the humble school lunchbox? Mine often had some cartoon character on the front, a battered handle, and a matching plastic thermos inside.
Even if the sandwiches got a bit squashed, opening that lunchbox felt like opening a treasure chest—complete with a mini chocolate bar or a note from a parent (if you were lucky).
Looking back, I realize how those sweet notes (“Good luck on your test!” or “You’re amazing!”) became a secret source of confidence.
In a time before text messages, these little gestures meant so much. That’s one thing I’ve tried to carry forward as a mom myself.
Even though my son’s lunches might be more modern and bento-style, I still pop in a sticky note now and then. Stephen Covey once said, “We are not human beings on a spiritual journey; we are spiritual beings on a human journey.”
For me, those small tokens of love—whether from lunchbox notes or modern texts—remind us how a little thoughtfulness can brighten someone’s day.
6. Conversations that took time (and a corded phone)
I know some of us might’ve had that super-long twisted phone cord that could stretch all the way into the next room.
And talk about the art of being patient! If a family member was hogging the phone, you had to wait your turn. No call waiting, no second lines—just a busy signal, repeated attempts, and a hope you’d eventually get through.
This often meant phone calls felt more precious.
You sat in one spot—because cords don’t exactly let you roam the house—and you gave that conversation your full attention. As a teen, I remember clinging to the phone for hours, discussing absolutely nothing and yet feeling so connected to my friends.
Compare that to now, where our phones are always in hand but our attention can be scattered. If anything, the limited, intentional nature of old-school phone calls made them feel far more meaningful.
7. Stacks of Polaroids and family albums
There’s an entire generation that has never heard a camera click, whirr, and spit out a Polaroid photo. But for ’70s kids, that was peak excitement.
You’d shake that square piece of film, waiting—and hoping—the picture turned out okay. Sometimes it was too bright, sometimes blurred, but always cherished.
I’ve written before about how we can use nostalgia to nourish our self-growth (you might have read my post on tapping into past experiences for mindfulness).
Polaroids and physical photo albums are perfect examples of how capturing a moment in time can help us connect with our younger selves.
Whenever I see my old albums, I’m reminded of how far I’ve come and how many ups and downs life has carried me through.
Like Sheryl Sandberg noted, “We cannot change what we are not aware of, and once we are aware, we cannot help but change.” Looking back on those photos, I become aware of the younger me—and that awareness inspires continued growth.
8. The joys of spontaneous face-to-face hangouts
Last but definitely not least, the spontaneous hangouts.
If you wanted to see your friends, you couldn’t just send a group text and wait for the replies. You knocked on their door, or you shouted for them from the sidewalk.
If they weren’t home, you moved on to the next house.
It might sound inconvenient now, but that unpredictability had its own charm. We learned to handle disappointments if no one was around, and when we did find each other, the excitement was off the charts.
It built resilience and a sense of community—nobody was ever alone for long, because sooner or later, another friend would come knocking.
Here at DM News, we love emphasizing the power of authentic human connection, and those spontaneous meetups were a daily reminder that quality time happens when you’re truly present.
Wrapping up
There’s a certain magic in the unhurried, unfiltered life ’70s kids once lived.
We might have had fewer conveniences—no smartphones, no endless streaming, and no social media to scroll through—but we gained a sense of patience, resourcefulness, and curiosity that shaped us in countless ways.
And while progress marches on (I love a good digital tool as much as the next person), I believe we can learn something from those simpler days: the power of being present, savoring anticipation, and cherishing real-world connections.
Whether you’re reconnecting with a friend or daring to unplug for an evening, take a page from the ’70s playbook and immerse yourself in the moment.
Because sometimes the small joys—the ones that don’t cost a fortune or demand the latest gadget—are the ones we remember best.
They’re the ones that bring genuine happiness and life-long lessons, reminding us of who we are and how far we’ve come. And in my book, that’s a treasure worth revisiting anytime.
