We went camping over the holiday weekend. After a long morning of hiking and an indulgent lunch, rain began to pour down. My family rested in our tent as droplets quickly raced down its nylon sides, sounds of rushing water filling our ears. I read my latest book surrounded by the scent of wet earth and dried sweat, thrusted by the inflatable mattress beneath me with every slight movement. My teen’s phone was long dead when he gave in to my offered sketchbook. I snapped a photo of him drawing and when he took a break, I took the sketchbook back and began to use the photo as a reference.

When he saw what I was doing, he responded with faux indignation: “You stole the sketchbook to sketch a sketch of me sketching?! That is so meta. How dare you?! Why were you even taking a picture of me?”

I couldn’t help but snap the photo because I’m nostalgic for a time when my son was seemingly drawing all the time. I discourage screen time, I use blockers, we disallow social media. The allure of the internet is often overwhelming for all of us, especially kids who have a reduced ability to limit themselves. He still draws, but not with the same frequency as before he was a teen with a phone.

Do you remember life before the internet?

I’m lucky enough to remember life before the internet. I was nine when my mom, a pre-med college student, bought a low-end desktop computer and installed a 1990’s-defining AOL free trial CD-ROM. My sister and I alternated hours we could spend on the gadget that quickly became the center of our world: I had even hours, she had odd.

I’d be lying if I said that before the internet my days were full of outdoor play and creativity. I spent much of my time babysat by the television or re-reading books of crafts I’d never try out without an adult present to facilitate. The children’s hospital I slept in regularly when I had cancer had a playroom on every floor. I’d utilize the washable paints and easel every chance I could while my mom busied herself with phone calls and later, studying for her college courses.

I spent a lot of time at my grandparents’ houses. When I’d get tired of watching sitcom reruns, I’d pretend. I’d pretend I had a family and I was the mom. Like imaginary friends I knew weren’t real or like an actor playing a role in front of a green screen that would later be filled with animated characters. I’d pretend I had a bat and a ball, that I was going to dance class or soccer, activities my friends at school participated in for real.

I spent a lot of time alone, following my curiosity. It was neglect but it was also a gift, because through that sacrifice I’ve continued to follow my curiosity, producing vibrant fruits along the way.