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The Moments My 80-Year-Old Self Would Want to Revisit
Published 3/11/26
Remembrance
I recently saw a TikTok trend where people were posting the moment their 80-year-old self would want to revisit one day.
And I thought: Yeah, the vacations were great. The birthday parties. The holidays. Those will matter.
But my 80-year-old self?
She'd want to revisit a random weeknight in February.
The one where my son was still small enough to fit in the crook of my arm.
Where my husband was cooking dinner in our tiny kitchen, probably pasta, probably with too much garlic.
Where our dog waited quietly under the dining room table, eyes locked on the floor, hoping for scraps.
That's the moment.
Not because it was perfect. But because it was ours.
The Ordinary Was Everything
My 80-year-old self would want to remember how little my son was.
How his hands were so small they'd barely wrap around my finger. How he'd fall asleep on my chest, and I'd just sit there, afraid to move, afraid to break the spell.
She'd want to remember how strong my husband was.
Not just physically, though yes, carrying a toddler, a diaper bag, and groceries up three flights of stairs counts. But the way he showed up. The way he'd take the night shift when I was too tired to function. The way he'd make me laugh when I wanted to cry.
She'd want to remember how rambunctious our dog was.
How he'd bark at 6 AM at the neighbors next door (sorry!!). How he'd beg for scraps even though he just ate. How he'd curl up at our feet at the end of the day like he was apologizing for being chaos personified.
We Didn't Have It All
My 80-year-old self would also want to remember that we didn't have it all figured out.
The bills always needed to be paid. The dog always had to go out (at the most inconvenient times). Our son never liked to sleep, which meant we didn't sleep either.
The laundry was never done. The dishes piled up. The apartment was too small. The couch was secondhand. The car made a weird noise we kept ignoring.
But somehow, in the middle of all of it, our life was full.
Not full of things. Full of life. Full of love.
These Are the Days
I have 22,787 photos on my phone.
Most of them aren't the big moments. They're not the vacations or the milestones or the perfectly lit Instagram-worthy shots.
They're a snowman our neighbors built during a random blizzard.
My son's tiny legs next to mine on the couch.
Him throwing rocks into the ocean on a winter afternoon.
The moments that felt ordinary at the time but turn out to be everything when you look back.
Just in case you didn’t believe me 😉
What Am I Supposed to Do With Them?
Back when I was a kid, my parents had to be intentional about what they documented. They'd pull out the bulky camcorder or the digital camera for dance recitals, BBQs, family gatherings. There was always a reason.
Now, we can capture everything. Every sneeze. Every tantrum. Every quiet moment on the couch.
Which is a beautiful thing.
But it also means we're faced with a new problem: What on earth are we supposed to do with all of these memories piled up on our phones?
I don't want to delete them. Deleting feels too final.
I don't want to post them. Not everything needs to be shared with the world.
I just want to hold on to them.
The Thing About Time
Life moves fast.
Everyone says it. But they say it for a reason.
One day, my son won't be small enough to fall asleep on my chest. My husband won't be young enough to carry all the groceries in one trip. Our dog won't be around to beg for scraps under the table.
One day, I'll be 80.
And I won't have my camera roll.
But I will have a book of photos to flip through on a quiet afternoon, seeing the snowman, the couch cuddles, the rocks thrown into the ocean, and feeling it all over again.
How little he was.
How strong we were.
How full our life was.
How full of life our life was.
How I'm Holding Onto It
That's why I started printing my photos with Monthbooks.
Every month, I choose up to 60 photos and turn them into a book. Just like the photo albums my mom had, but without the trips to the drugstore or the annoying plastic sleeves.
It's as simple as:
- Connect the Chatbooks app to my camera roll
- Choose my photos (already organized by month)
- Get my book
And now, instead of 22,000 photos trapped on my phone, I have a growing collection on my shelf.
Books I can flip through. Books my son can pull off the shelf when he's older and ask, "Was I really that small?" Books that remind me: These were the days. These are the days.
For My 80-Year-Old Self
So here's what I know:
The big moments will matter. The vacations. The birthdays. The milestones.
But my 80-year-old self will treasure the ordinary ones even more.
The long winter nights. The couch snuggles. The dog under the table. The life that was far from perfect and full and ours.
These moments deserve to be enjoyed by your 80-year old self too one day.
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