There was a sense that once the day ended, it was truly over. Dinner happened. Dishes were done. And then there was time. Time that didn’t need to be filled or accounted for.
Summers felt longer too. When school let out, you didn’t see your friends for months. You didn’t talk every day. You waited until fall to find out what had changed. Now everyone is always reachable. A text away. A FaceTime call away. Distance has collapsed.
Back then, evenings belonged to the house you were in. To the people there. Or to your own quiet. You weren’t expected to be available. There was no glow from a screen pulling your attention somewhere else.
I remember sitting with nothing urgent to do. Reading. Writing. Listening to the sounds of the house. Even boredom had a texture to it. It led somewhere. It created space for thought.
Now evenings often feel crowded. Notifications arrive late into the night. Conversations never fully end. There is always something waiting for a response.
I don’t think evenings actually became shorter. I think they became filled. Overfilled, sometimes. What was once empty space now carries constant interruption.
I still believe there’s something valuable in reclaiming that time. In letting evenings slow again. In allowing the day to close without immediately opening another one.
Some things need room to breathe. Evenings used to provide that room.