Living More Like It's 1975
25 Little Ways to Create a Quieter, Simpler, More Beautiful Life
A Little Introduction: I Think I Belong to Another Time
Lately, I've been thinking about how much I want my life to slow down.
Not just a little. Not just a relaxing Sunday afternoon followed by six days of noise, notifications, and running around.
I mean really slow down.
I want a quieter life. A more private life. A life that feels a little less connected to the entire world and a lot more connected to the little world I've created for myself.
And the more I think about it, the more I realize that I want to live a little more like it's 1975.
Now, before anyone gets too excited, I'm not suggesting we give up modern medicine, women's rights, air conditioning, or the ability to order pizza without speaking to another human being. There are definitely some modern conveniences I'm keeping, thank you very much.
I'm talking about the feeling of life before everything became so loud.
Before social media. Before smartphones. Before everyone knew what everyone else was doing every minute of the day.
Before we started feeling like we had to document our lives instead of simply living them.
And I have a confession.
I am absolutely enamored with the women in those old vintage gothic romance novels from the 1960s and 1970s.
You know the ones.
Those beautifully dramatic paperback covers featuring a mysterious young woman standing outside an enormous old mansion, her hair blowing in the wind, a single window glowing somewhere in the distance.
She's usually wearing a long flowing dress or a sensible little coat. She may be a governess, a secretary, a nurse, or a young woman who has just inherited a suspiciously large house from a relative she's never met.
There is almost always a brooding stranger.
There is definitely a secret.
And somebody really ought to investigate that locked room upstairs.
But here's the funny thing.
As much as I love the mysteries and romance, what fascinates me most is the everyday life surrounding those stories.
The quiet houses.
The handwritten letters.
The long afternoons.
The books.
The old furniture.
The women sitting by windows, drinking tea, reading, sewing, walking through gardens, and generally existing without checking a phone every four minutes.
Of course, those novels were fiction, and real life in 1975 wasn't necessarily easier or more romantic. Women had plenty of struggles, and I certainly wouldn't want to bring all of those back.
But there is something about that slower, more self-contained existence that I find incredibly appealing.
I want some of that.
I want to wake up and belong to my own day.
I want my home to feel like a sanctuary rather than a place where the entire world can reach me.
I want books and music and art and good food and quiet evenings.
I want to make things with my hands.
I want to be a little harder to reach.
I want to know what's happening in my own backyard before I know what some stranger on the internet had for breakfast.
And most of all?
I want to stop feeling like I have to be constantly connected in order to be fully alive.
So I've been thinking about little ways to bring some of that old-fashioned magic into modern life.
Here are 25 of them.
Part One: Unplugging From the Modern World
1. Stop Living on Social Media
This is a big one for me.
I don't want to spend my days scrolling through other people's lives, comparing my home, appearance, accomplishments, relationships, or happiness to carefully selected photographs.
I don't want to feel obligated to announce everything I'm doing.
I don't need to know what 300 people think about every subject under the sun.
I want to live my life instead of constantly observing everyone else's.
That doesn't mean I have to disappear from the internet entirely. I love writing, creating art, and working on my blogs.
But there's a difference between using the internet as a creative tool and allowing it to become the place where you spend most of your existence.
I'd like to make things, share them when I choose, and then go back to my actual life.
2. Make Your Phone a Telephone Again
Imagine that.
A phone that you use to make calls, send necessary messages, and occasionally look something up.
Not a tiny machine demanding your attention every waking moment.
I'm not getting rid of mine, but I would like to stop carrying it around as though it's a vital organ.
Leave it in another room.
Turn off unnecessary notifications.
Stop checking it during meals.
Let messages wait.
In 1975, if someone wanted to talk to you and you weren't home, they simply had to try again later.
The world survived.
3. Bring Back Handwritten Letters
I love the idea of receiving actual mail that isn't a bill, advertisement, or notice that my car warranty is about to expire.
Write someone a letter.
Use pretty stationery.
Tell them about your week.
Include a photograph, a little drawing, a pressed flower, or a favorite recipe.
There's something lovely about knowing another person sat down, picked up a pen, and spent a few minutes thinking about you.
And you don't have to wait for someone else to write first.
4. Keep a Real Paper Journal
Not everything needs to be typed.
Buy a notebook you love, or use one that's been sitting in a drawer for three years.
Write about your days.
Your thoughts.
Your dreams.
The weather.
The strange conversation you overheard at the grocery store.
The book you're reading.
The things you're grateful for.
I especially love the idea of keeping a journal that feels like something a woman might have tucked into the drawer of an antique writing desk.
A little private record of an ordinary life.
5. Learn to Be Unavailable
This might be one of the most luxurious things we can do for ourselves.
You do not have to answer every message immediately.
You do not have to explain why you weren't online.
You do not have to make yourself accessible to everyone at every hour.
You can spend an entire afternoon reading.
You can take a bath without bringing your phone.
You can work on a painting and let the world carry on without you.
Being unreachable for a little while is not a character flaw.
Sometimes it's how we find ourselves again.
Part Two: Making Home a Little More Old-Fashioned
6. Make Your Home Feel Like a Sanctuary
I don't want my house to look like a showroom.
I want it to feel lived in.
Soft lamps. Bookshelves. Cozy blankets. Pretty curtains. Old furniture. Flowers in vases. A comfortable chair beside a window.
A home that invites you to sit down and stay awhile.
And I particularly love rooms with a little mystery and history to them.
Dark wood.
Vintage pictures.
Antique mirrors.
A slightly dramatic lamp.
Maybe even a grandfather clock, if we're feeling particularly gothic.
Your home doesn't need to be expensive to be beautiful.
It just needs to feel like yours.
7. Decorate With Vintage and Secondhand Treasures
I love the idea of a home filled with things collected slowly over time.
Old paintings.
Pretty dishes.
Vintage books.
Embroidered linens.
Little ceramic figurines.
Interesting lamps.
Thrift stores, flea markets, estate sales, and even your own family's forgotten belongings can be wonderful places to find things with character.
Of course, the trick is not to turn your home into an antique store with no room to walk.
Choose things you genuinely love.
8. Bring Back the Art of Homemaking
Somewhere along the way, ordinary homemaking began to feel like a collection of annoying chores we needed to finish as quickly as possible.
And yes, scrubbing a toilet is probably never going to become my favorite hobby.
But I do love the idea of taking pride in making a home comfortable.
Fresh sheets.
Clean floors.
A tidy kitchen.
Something good cooking.
Flowers on the table.
A pretty seasonal arrangement.
Not because a woman is obligated to keep house, but because caring for the place where you live can be an act of love toward yourself.
9. Cook More Meals at Home
There is something wonderfully old-fashioned about a pot of soup simmering on the stove.
Or homemade biscuits.
Or a casserole.
Or a Sunday dinner that fills the house with delicious smells.
I want to spend more time making simple, comforting food.
Not complicated gourmet masterpieces.
Just good, ordinary meals.
The kind of food that makes a house feel like a home.
And I'd love to build a little collection of handwritten recipe cards along the way.
10. Make Evenings Cozy Again
I think evenings should feel different from the rest of the day.
Turn off the bright overhead lights.
Switch on a lamp.
Put on comfortable clothes.
Make a cup of tea or coffee.
Listen to music.
Read a book.
Work on a little project.
Maybe take a long bath before bed.
I want evenings that feel like the closing pages of a lovely old novel.
Preferably without discovering that my new husband has a mysterious first wife living in the attic.
Part Three: Rediscovering Old-Fashioned Entertainment
11. Read Actual Books
I want books everywhere.
On my nightstand.
Beside my favorite chair.
On shelves.
In little stacks.
And I want to spend more time reading them.
Old gothic romances, mysteries, poetry, historical fiction, biographies, art books, cookbooks—whatever catches my interest.
There's something especially wonderful about reading an old paperback with yellowed pages and that unmistakable secondhand-book smell.
No notifications.
No advertisements.
Just a story.
12. Listen to Music as an Activity
Remember when listening to music was something people actually did?
They put on a record.
Sat down.
Listened to an entire album.
Maybe looked through the album cover.
I want more of that.
Put on some Fleetwood Mac, Carpenters, Carly Simon, or whatever makes you happy.
Let the music fill the house.
Dance around the kitchen.
Sing badly.
Make listening to music an experience again instead of just background noise.
13. Watch Old Movies and Television Shows
Give me a rainy afternoon, a cozy blanket, and an old movie.
I love the idea of revisiting entertainment from the 1960s and 1970s.
Old mysteries.
Classic horror.
Romantic dramas.
Made-for-television movies.
Vintage sitcoms.
And, naturally, anything involving an enormous mansion with suspiciously poor lighting.
Make popcorn.
Put your phone away.
Enjoy the whole movie without checking anything else.
14. Take Up Quiet, Creative Hobbies
Women in old novels always seem to have something interesting to do with their hands.
Sewing.
Knitting.
Embroidery.
Painting.
Gardening.
Writing.
Of course, we can choose whatever hobbies appeal to us.
I love coloring, making art, creating little scenes, journaling, and working on creative projects.
The important thing is having something enjoyable to do that doesn't involve endlessly staring at a screen.
Something you can return to whenever you have a quiet afternoon.
15. Bring Back the Pleasure of Doing Nothing
This one might be the hardest.
Sit on the porch.
Look out the window.
Watch the rain.
Drink your coffee.
Think.
Daydream.
You don't have to turn every spare minute into something productive.
Sometimes a perfectly lovely afternoon is one in which absolutely nothing remarkable happens.
Part Four: Living More Slowly and Intentionally
16. Spend More Time Outdoors
Walk through your neighborhood.
Visit a park.
Sit beneath a tree.
Grow a few flowers.
Watch the birds.
Notice the seasons changing.
One thing I love about those old gothic novels is how much the natural world seems to be part of everyday life.
The wind.
The sea.
The gardens.
The rain.
The moonlight.
I want to notice those things in my own life.
Even if my surroundings are considerably less dramatic than a crumbling English manor.
17. Dress for Yourself
I love the idea of getting dressed because it makes you feel good, not because you're going somewhere important.
Wear the pretty sweater.
The vintage blouse.
The comfortable dress.
The little necklace you love.
Find a style that makes you feel like yourself.
I don't necessarily want to dress exactly like it's 1975 every day, but I do want to bring back a little of that old-fashioned attention to personal style.
And I refuse to believe that comfortable clothes and looking lovely are mutually exclusive.
18. Create Little Daily Rituals
A quiet life doesn't have to be a boring life.
It can be filled with tiny rituals.
Morning coffee beside the window.
A walk in the afternoon.
Reading after dinner.
A weekly library visit.
A Sunday bath.
Fresh flowers on Fridays.
A little journaling before bed.
These things don't have to be expensive or elaborate.
They're simply small ways of telling yourself that your everyday life matters.
19. Stop Rushing Through Everything
I don't want to feel like I'm constantly racing toward the next thing.
I want to cook without hurrying.
Read without checking the clock.
Enjoy my coffee before it gets cold.
Take my time arranging flowers.
Spend an afternoon making art.
Of course, some days will be busy.
But I don't want rushing to become my natural state.
A slower life is something we can practice, one ordinary moment at a time.
20. Become More Comfortable With Solitude
I think there's a difference between being lonely and being alone.
And I want to become very good at enjoying my own company.
Take myself to the library.
Go for a walk.
Visit a bookstore.
Have coffee somewhere.
Spend an evening reading.
Make art.
Listen to music.
I want to create a life that feels interesting and fulfilling even when nobody else is around.
A life I don't constantly need to escape from.
Part Five: Creating a Beautifully Private Life
21. Keep More of Your Life to Yourself
This is something I've been thinking about quite a lot.
Not everything needs to be shared.
Not every accomplishment needs an audience.
Not every disappointment needs to become a public announcement.
Not every beautiful moment needs a photograph posted online.
Some things can simply belong to us.
Our homes.
Our routines.
Our little adventures.
Our thoughts.
Our private joys.
There's something rather romantic about having a life that most of the world knows absolutely nothing about.
22. Choose Meaningful Connections Over Constant Contact
I don't need to be in constant communication with dozens of people.
I'd rather have a few meaningful relationships.
People I can really talk to.
People who make me laugh.
People who respect my peace.
People who don't require constant access to me in order to feel important.
I'd like more actual conversations and fewer meaningless notifications.
More letters.
More coffee visits.
More sitting around a table talking.
Less noise.
23. Make Your Own Entertainment
I think we've become so accustomed to being entertained that we sometimes forget how to entertain ourselves.
Make a scrapbook.
Rearrange a room.
Bake something.
Paint.
Write a story.
Create a miniature scene.
Try a new recipe.
Read about an interesting subject.
Make a little seasonal display.
There are a thousand ways to enjoy an afternoon without buying anything or opening an app.
And there's a special satisfaction in creating your own amusement.
24. Live More Seasonally
I want to pay more attention to the natural rhythm of the year.
Spring flowers.
Summer evenings.
Autumn leaves.
Winter candles.
Seasonal recipes.
Little holiday traditions.
Decorations that change throughout the year.
Books that match the weather.
A home that reflects what's happening outside its windows.
I love the thought of allowing each season to have its own personality.
And autumn, of course, gets extra points for looking like the cover of a gothic romance novel.
25. Make Your Own Little World
This is probably the heart of everything I'm trying to say.
I want to create a little world that feels peaceful, interesting, creative, and entirely my own.
A home full of books and art.
A kitchen where something good is occasionally baking.
A comfortable place to sit and write.
A collection of hobbies that make me happy.
A few people I genuinely love.
Beautiful music.
Quiet evenings.
Little adventures.
Handwritten journals.
Seasonal traditions.
And enough privacy to enjoy it all without feeling like the world is constantly peering through the windows.
I don't want to disappear from life.
I want to disappear from the noise so I can experience more of life.
And I think there's a very important difference.
A Little Conclusion: Somewhere Between 1975 and Now
I know I can't actually go back to 1975.
And truthfully, I wouldn't want to.
There are plenty of things about modern life that I'm grateful for.
I love having access to information, creative tools, modern conveniences, and opportunities that weren't always available to women in the past.
I love being able to write a blog and share my art with people I may never meet.
But I don't think appreciating modern life means we have to embrace every part of it.
We can keep the things that make our lives better and quietly let go of the things that don't.
We can use technology without allowing it to consume us.
We can enjoy the internet without living on it.
We can stay connected to people without making ourselves available to everyone.
And we can create beautiful, interesting lives without constantly needing to prove that we're doing so.
I think about those women on the covers of my beloved vintage gothic romances.
Standing on windswept cliffs.
Walking along lonely country roads.
Looking out from the windows of enormous old houses.
Holding letters.
Reading books.
Living in a world that seems just a little quieter, a little more mysterious, and a little less hurried than our own.
And while I could certainly do without the sinister housekeepers, unexplained footsteps, and handsome men with suspicious family histories, I'd happily borrow some of that atmosphere.
Give me the old books.
The handwritten letters.
The long afternoons.
The music.
The cozy rooms.
The rainy windows.
The little creative projects.
The peaceful solitude.
The feeling that an ordinary day can be beautiful without anybody else knowing about it.
Maybe that's what I'm really looking for.
Not 1975 itself.
But a life with more room to breathe.
A life that belongs to me.
A life where I can close the door, put on a record, make a cup of coffee, open a book, and feel perfectly content with the little world around me.
Less scrolling. More living.
Less noise. More beauty.
Less performing. More simply being.
And if I happen to do all of that while wearing a flowing vintage nightgown and wandering around my house looking vaguely mysterious?
Well.
I think the ladies on those old paperback covers would approve.
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