Tradition over Nostalgia

90s trends are everywhere, the denim, the jellies, the Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy style obsession. You can feel the cultural pull toward the past. But I don’t think people really need the 90s.

Like every generation before us, we miss what life felt like when we were kids. But for us Xennial/Millenials, life has also become much more complex. With the rise of technology and the Information Age, we are navigating a world that can feel too big, more transient, and more overwhelming.

What we’re missing is how life felt when we were kids, a sense of innocence and a kind of blissful ignorance.

For a long time, the message was to leave where you came from, figure out who you are, and forge your own path. And there is value in that. I lived that path myself. It broadened my perspective, introduced me to wonderful people, and sharpened my voice and values. For fifteen years, I worked in a fast-paced advertising career before stepping away to focus on raising my three children.

In many ways, I have returned to the beaten path. And in walking that well-worn road, I am finding my way as a writer and realizing a dream I had tucked away.

You can go your own way. There is value in that. But if you are anything like me, at some point you feel a pull back. Back to what shaped you. Back to where you came from. The 90s denim will not take you there.

That is where tradition comes in.

Nostalgia can feel empty. It leaves you longing. It is passive.
Tradition is different. It requires participation. It brings rhythm to our lives and steadies us. It gives us something to look forward to instead of something to long for.

It is something we can carry forward and pass on, instead of a “you had to be there” kind of nostalgia that can be exclusive. It can isolate. But tradition is inclusive. It invites us in, connects us, and gives us something real to share.

Research shows that family traditions help shape identity, strengthen belonging, and provide stability in a world that feels increasingly fast and uncertain.

We are not missing the things. We are missing how life felt. And we are desperately trying to create that feeling for our children.

This became real for me as a parent as I try to make their world small enough to grasp. We have chosen to anchor our children’s lives in traditions from both my childhood and my husband’s, while creating new ones of our own.

Just a mason jar…

Each day in November, we write down one thing we’re thankful for and place it inside.

Each year, we go see Santa at the mall the day before Thanksgiving, then have dinner at an Italian restaurant. The morning after Thanksgiving, we wake up and read from our “Jar of Thanks,” filled throughout the month, before heading out to pick out our Christmas tree.

Every June, right after school lets out, we return to my hometown to celebrate Pop’s birthday and “Camp Pop & Yaya.” We go back again in September for the Apple Festival. We live near my husband’s family, so we bookend our summers with trips to my hometown.

There is something powerful about watching your children retrace your steps in the place that shaped you.

There is no going back. But we do get to choose what we carry and pass forward.

We get to choose the traditions, the places, and the people we return to.

I’m putting the finishing touches on a children’s book inspired by these ideas. The process has been fun, collaborative, and unexpectedly grounding in a way I didn’t know I needed.

For the first time, I’m bringing together everything I’ve learned from years in journalism, advertising, and marketing and applying it to something that’s entirely my own. That’s been both challenging and incredibly empowering.

I can’t wait to share what comes next.