Analog Attraction
December 9, 2024
Writer: Scott Tran
Editor: Sophie Graff
I love to hold things. When I was young, my parents said I always had something in my hands. Whether it was rocks I dug up in the forest, sticks I swung like a kung-fu master, or magazines from the periodicals section of Barnes & Noble, I fully immersed myself in the physical world. The things I held weren’t just objects—they became extensions of me, unified.
Then, the world sped up. By high school, my peers carried smartphones and tablets, while my teachers steadily replaced whiteboard lectures with PowerPoint slides. In the lunchroom, I sat with a pile of books next to my lunch tray, feeling like a relic in a world racing toward the future. For the first time, I wondered if I had been born in the wrong era.
Trying to catch up, I got my first phone as a freshman at the University of Michigan. Holding it, I thought, “My life will change!” But as I scrolled through curated posts, I felt more disconnected than ever. Instead of opening doors, the phone highlighted my lack of social experience and confidence. I retreated further, fitting the stereotype of an asocial engineering student—focused on the future and withdrawn from the present.
Stuck in labs, I often worked with analog and digital signals in my courses, each revealing unique characteristics. Analog signals, like light and sound, were continuous and chaotic, capturing reality in all its richness and unpredictability. Digital signals, by contrast, were structured and precise, simplifying complexity into clean yet incomplete snapshots. While I valued the clarity of digital, I was drawn to the raw nature of analog. This tension between the two mirrored my struggle to reconcile the future-focused world I inhabited with my desire for something more authentic and alive.
One day in the library, a tray on top of a bookshelf caught my eye with the words Today’s News. Curious, I picked up a copy of The New York Times and began flipping through its pages during study breaks. Unlike staring at lab data or scrolling through my phone, reading the paper reminded me of the joy I felt as a child in Barnes & Noble. As light reflected off the turning pages, I was enlightened by news in developing countries, touched by stories of overcoming hardship and inspired by communities finding creative solutions to challenges. But more than the headlines themselves, the experience of holding the paper reminded me of what I’d been missing—the human connection I often overlooked. The paper’s softness and the Georgia typeface columns grounded me in my environment, making my world more vivid and alive. As I read, I began noticing the hum of conversations, the laughter of my peers, and the subtleties of their daily highs and lows. The pages connected me not only to distant stories but also to the people around me in a way I hadn’t experienced before.
In those moments, I realized my peers weren’t just profiles on Instagram or names on a class roster. They were like analog signals—beautifully complex and complete. I felt less out of place, and for the first time, I felt present.
Reinvigorated, I reconnected with analog communication and media, drawn to NPR’s Fresh Air during long drives. With each listen, the static in my life subsided into substance. One interview that stayed with me was a conversation with Emma Stone, who reflected on navigating anxiety, her relationship with creativity, and how acting requires presence in the moment. Her voice, layered with a faint static hum, felt raw and alive, amplifying her authenticity. She reminded me that, like analog signals, life’s most meaningful moments are complex and nuanced, shaped as much by interference as by clarity. Fresh Air’s ability to transcend interference and deliver such depth inspired me to read more attentively, write with greater care, and listen more closely to the stories around me. These habits, rooted in the authenticity of analog experiences, have reshaped how I engage with the world.
Yet, as I embraced the analog, I also found a new appreciation for the digital. Each medium balances space and time differently, offering its own beauty. Analog slows and roots me in the present, while digital expands my reach and amplifies creativity.
I no longer feel disconnected when seeing those “perfect” Instagram posts. Instead, I see them as digital fragments of a fuller story—enriched by struggles, nuances, and unfiltered moments. Sitting in the library with a copy of The Michigan Daily in hand, I find myself equally drawn to my laptop, where stories from the digital brand Hopelessly Yellow await. Like me, it exists in both worlds, reminding us that balance is where the true connection lies.
Image: Chloe Sinel
