If you grew up in the ’60s or ’70s, these 8 simple pleasures still make you smile today

There’s something quietly comforting about remembering the world we grew up in. The air felt slower, the noise softer, and the smallest things carried a kind of magic that’s hard to find today.

Growing up in the ’60s or ’70s meant finding joy in moments that didn’t require much — just a little time, imagination, and good company.

Even now, those simple pleasures still have a way of lighting us up. They remind us of who we were before life got complicated, before calendars filled up, and before everything started beeping, buzzing, and updating by the minute.

Let’s take a little stroll down memory lane and revisit the timeless joys that still make us smile today.

1. Saturday morning cartoons

If you grew up in the ’60s or ’70s, you probably remember the anticipation that came with Saturday mornings. The rest of the week was for school, chores, and early bedtimes, but Saturday morning was all yours.

You’d shuffle to the living room in your pajamas, bowl of cereal in hand, and plop down in front of the TV. Shows like The Flintstones, Looney Tunes, or Scooby-Doo played in endless rotation, and for a couple of hours, the world felt perfectly simple.

There was something special about how unhurried those mornings felt. No one was scrolling through phones or flipping through streaming services trying to decide what to watch.

You had a handful of choices, and that was enough. You watched, laughed, and maybe even argued with your siblings over who got the best spot on the couch.

When I think back, those mornings were less about the cartoons and more about the feeling of freedom that came with them. They signaled a break from responsibility, a little pocket of happiness before the rest of the weekend unfolded.

Even now, when I see an old cartoon clip or hear that familiar theme music, it feels like stepping into sunlight after a long winter.

2. The crackle of vinyl records

Before playlists and Bluetooth speakers, there was the satisfying ritual of playing a record.

You’d slide the album out of its sleeve, place it carefully on the turntable, and guide the needle to the groove. That soft crackle before the music started was pure anticipation, like the sound of time slowing down.

Every record felt like an experience. You didn’t skip around or shuffle songs; you simply listened to the whole album, start to finish.

The cover art was part of the charm too, often held open on your lap while you memorized lyrics or studied the band’s faces. 

I still have a few of my old records tucked away in a box. They’re a little scratched, but the moment I play one, I’m right back in my childhood living room.

There’s something honest in that sound — the pops and imperfections that remind you this isn’t digital perfection. It’s a memory you can hear.

3. Handwritten letters and postcards

Long before text messages and email, we wrote letters that actually meant something.

A friend might move to another city, and you’d wait weeks for their reply. That made it all the more special when you opened your mailbox and saw an envelope with your name in familiar handwriting.

Writing by hand slowed you down. You had to think about your words, what mattered, and how to say it. A letter carried warmth, intention, and a little piece of the sender. Even postcards felt like treasures, especially when they came from faraway places you dreamed of visiting.

I still have a shoebox full of old letters from family and friends. Some are decades old, written in careful cursive or typed on clunky typewriters. They’re a reminder that connection once took patience, and in that patience, affection deepened. There’s something wonderful about knowing someone took the time to sit down, think of you, and write.

4. Family road trips with no GPS

Before Google Maps told us when to turn, families relied on paper maps, intuition, and the occasional argument about whether we’d missed the exit.

But there was magic in those long car rides. You’d pack sandwiches, fill a thermos with coffee, and set out early in the morning, windows rolled down and the radio humming along.

Kids in the backseat played “I Spy” or counted how many red cars they saw. Sometimes you’d stop at a roadside diner, stretch your legs, and strike up a conversation with strangers who felt oddly familiar.

The world seemed both vast and accessible. An open road full of possibility.

What stands out most from those trips isn’t the destinations but the in-between moments: the laughter, the snacks passed around, the songs everyone sang along to.

Those memories taught us that adventure didn’t need to be planned down to the minute. It could unfold one mile at a time, map folded neatly in the glove compartment.

5. The smell of fresh-cut grass

Few scents can transport you back in time as quickly as fresh-cut grass.

It carries the sound of lawnmowers buzzing in the distance, sprinklers clicking, and kids laughing somewhere nearby. It meant summer had arrived, with its long afternoons and slower pace.

In my neighborhood, everyone knew that smell. It drifted through open windows and across backyard fences. You’d be playing outside, barefoot and sticky with lemonade, while parents chatted over hedges.

There was a shared rhythm to those days, and it was simple, familiar, and grounding.

Even now, I find myself pausing when I catch that scent. It’s amazing how something so ordinary can stir so many emotions. 

6. Neighborhood friendships

Before social media, “community” meant the people who lived around you.

You knew their names, their dogs, and what time they watered their gardens. Kids rode bikes together until the streetlights flickered on, and someone’s mom would call from the porch that dinner was ready.

We learned early how to get along, share, and make up after a fight. Those friendships were real, messy, and lasting. You could knock on someone’s door unannounced, and they’d invite you in for a glass of lemonade without a second thought.

I sometimes miss that kind of closeness. It made the world feel smaller and safer. Today, when I run into an old neighbor or childhood friend, there’s an unspoken bond — a sense that we grew up in the same rhythm of life, shaped by shared sidewalks and simple trust.

7. Holding printed photos

There’s something magical about holding a photograph in your hands. Not a digital image on a screen, but a real photo, the kind that curled slightly at the edges and left smudges from your fingers.

You’d pick them up from the drugstore, eager to see how they turned out, and sometimes half the pictures were out of focus or had someone blinking. But that was part of the thrill.

Family gatherings meant pulling out photo albums and passing them around. Laughter filled the room as stories came flooding back — birthdays, beach trips, school plays. Each photo was a piece of proof that your life was unfolding, moment by moment.

I still keep a few albums on my shelf, and every so often, I flip through them. They remind me that life’s beauty is in its imperfections, in the candid shots, the crooked smiles, the way time captured us before we knew how fast it would all go.

8. Lazy summer evenings on the porch

Back then, evenings were quite laidback. Idyllic, even. You’d sit on the porch after dinner, sipping iced tea or lemonade, watching the sky shift from gold to purple. The cicadas would start their chorus, and a cool breeze would roll in after the heat of the day.

Neighbors wandered by, and you’d wave or chat for a while before settling back into your chair. Maybe you talked about nothing in particular, just mundane stuff like the weather, garden plans, or an upcoming trip.

There was no pressure to entertain or impress. The moment itself was enough.

I often think those evenings taught us how to be present. Without screens or background noise, we learned to listen to each other, to the world, to our own thoughts.

Even now, I find peace in sitting outside as the sun sets, feeling that same gentle contentment that once filled the air all summer long.

Final thoughts

Looking back on the ’60s and ’70s, I’m reminded of how good life felt when it was simple. We didn’t need much to be happy, and maybe that’s the part worth holding on to.

Those small pleasures still have the power to calm us, to ground us, and to remind us that joy has always been within reach.

We may have traded paper maps for GPS and letters for texts, but the heart of those memories remains. They’re woven into who we are.

And every time we catch a familiar scent, sound, or song from those years, it’s like the universe whispering, remember when happiness was this easy?

Sometimes, the best way forward is to revisit what once made us smile and let it guide us toward what still can.