The loop of a DVD menu, the rattle of a burned CD, a shoebox heavy with photos—these small rituals remind us of a time when media could be touched, held, and kept. In an era where memories live in the cloud and libraries shrink to glowing rectangles, tangible media offer something digital convenience cannot: presence. Objects carry experience in a way screens cannot replicate, letting us return to what matters; not as files that vanish with a swipe, but as companions that hold memory.

To understand why physical media remains meaningful today, I spoke with a few people about the books, records, and keepsakes they treasure. Their answers revealed a truth often overlooked: tangibility is not mere sentimentality. It is a conduit for memory, connection, and presence.

Sometimes, this legacy arrives in unexpected ways. Houstonian Kassidy Webb recalled discovering her late mother’s vinyl collection in a dusty basement chest: over a hundred records, each marked with her mother’s looping handwriting. “My tear ducts did not hold back,” Webb said. The overwhelming moment wasn’t about vintage value—it was about holding a piece of her mother, inheriting it, and carrying it forward.

For Austin local Ashley Dawson, books are portals to a slower, more deliberate engagement. “Books can feel like a doorway to another world,” Dawson explained. “It gives me the chance to unplug, slow down, and get fully absorbed in a story or idea.” Unlike the “constant temptation to doom-scroll between apps and the glare of blue light,” she joked, books offer texture, not just instant access. “I love seeing my progress as the story unfolds too,” Dawson added. One favorite, Money and The Law of Attraction, led to community: “Through a book club I connected with people who loved it too, and I still keep in touch with them. That feels pretty special,” she said.

Physical photos carry a different kind of weight. Once, I uploaded every photo I owned to Photobucket (yes, I’m that old)—and now, they’re gone. As one Twitter user wisely put it, “Internet resources can always be taken down, deleted, removed, even censored; it is always important to keep our physical media around” (@MyVintageSoul). In contrast, the shoebox of pictures passed down from my parents and grandparents endures. I can pull them out on a random Saturday night, scrapbook, and create something unique to hand down to future generations. Unlike files, these tangible objects are ours to touch, to organize, and to cherish.

Now, I’m not saying we should toss our phones into a lake and go back to candlelight and quills; but there’s joy in letting creativity take its own shape, beyond the pull of a scrolling screen or getting lost in a sea of Tiktok trends. A favorite book, a handwritten letter, or an old record can be passed down like an heirloom, a piece of the past that persists. By keeping objects we can hold, we anchor memory in ways a cloud never can. At the end of the day, what we hold in our hands keeps us human.