Is this It?
A life worth remembering, but tools that devalue it, or forget
Everywhere you turn right now, there’s a conversation happening.
Privacy is the new flex. Analog is aspirational. Disappearing is chic.
And yet, we’re digital natives. That part isn’t going anywhere.
We’re the first generation to live our entire lives online and to start questioning what we actually want from that reality. Especially as parents. Especially as people who care deeply about meaning.
What do we share?
What do we keep private?
What belongs in public? And what belongs just to us?
So much of the internet feels performative now. A scoreboard. A highlight reel. A flex. And for many of us, that was never really our style.
At the same time, here’s the tension we’re all quietly holding: We’ve never had more memories. More photos. More videos. More core memories.
We’re a generation that delayed “life” to travel, to create, to fall in love, and to say yes to experiences worth remembering.
And yet… those memories we worked so hard to have feel strangely devalued by the algorithm:
The vacation photos that took your breath away.
Your wedding video, the truest representation of your love, quietly getting a hundred views, and a few comments.
Your child’s face. Their first steps. The most meaningful moments of your life, reduced to content.
Not only is the algorithm muting them, but more importantly many of us never wanted to play the algorithm game anyway: We don’t share because we want applause… We share because we’re human. Because we love our people. Because it’s fun to celebrate, curate, and connect with our friends when we do.
So here we are, living in a dystopia of our own creation:
We’ve lived big lives.
We’re native to the platforms, but increasingly selective about what we want from them.
And we’ve lived lives worth remembering… but actually remembering them feels harder than ever.
Our phones are a graveyard of screenshot, memes, and core memories poupourri, suffering from: Too little curation.
Our social media is increasingly triggering: To share or not to share? Privacy is important but also it’s fun to connect by sharing…
And the algorithm, which was never the point, has devalued anything that isn’t optimized for attention, and reaction. There’s far too much emphasis on performance, and definitely not enough on preservation, celebration, and connection.
Which leaves many of us asking, quietly:
Is this it?
Is the only time I really revisit my most meaningful memories when my phone reminds me, years from now, with an AI-generated slideshow?
Is the only reason why I take the monthly photo of my baby in their first year to post on Instagram?
Is the only reason I compile cute summary videos of our family vacation to share in the family group chat one time when we get home from our trip?
Are my only options really: lost in the cloud or performing on social media?
I don’t think so.
I think we should expect more.
That belief is why I quietly began building The Memories Concierge: private, beautifully curated family websites designed to hold your most meaningful moments with intention.
More discreet than social media.
More artful than iCloud.
Safer than basements. More reliable than attics.
Accessible anytime, anywhere.
Your digital happy place.
This work didn’t begin as a business idea. It began with loss, conflict, and longing:
Years ago, I went searching for our wedding video, only to learn the company who filmed it no longer existed. After days of digging, I recovered a screen recording of the trailer, but the original was gone. That sinking feeling, that something irreplaceable had slipped through the cracks, never left me.
My husband is deeply private. I love capturing the joy of our everyday life, but I also wanted to honor his discretion and protect what matters — our family!
And then there was my grandmother’s handwritten memoir—something I believed was lost forever, found again during a moment when we weren’t sure how much time we had left. Holding it felt like holding our family’s history. Fragile. Sacred. Irreplaceable.
Somewhere in the middle of all of that, I realized what I was craving:
A place worthy of our memories.
Not another app. Not another feed. Something just for us.
So I built a living archive for our family, a private home for photos, videos, voicemails, recipes, stories, and moments that mattered.
Friends asked to see it. Then they asked if I could help them build one too.
That’s how The Memories Concierge was born.
Today, we help families who value privacy, heritage, and the quiet luxury of knowing their stories won’t be lost to time, platforms, or chance.
If this essay stirred something in you, if you’ve ever wondered where your core memories should live, I think you already know the answer… and I’d love to connect!
