Usually, my handbag is a medley of digital devices and life essentials – my phone, iPad, chargers, keys, tampons. But lately, you’re likely to also find a half-done newspaper crossword, a ton of stationery, the book I’ve restarted three times, and whatever scraps and trinkets I’ve picked up throughout the day to put in my scrapbook.

Analog is back, and it feels like we need it more than ever. In a world where getting just about anything done means being sucked into a digital black hole of apps, sign-up forms, harrowing social media feeds and carnivorous advertisers, it’s no surprise that we keep reaching back for the comfort of the physical: Polaroids, vinyl records, real birthday cards. It all helps us slow down and appreciate a world where not everything is online.

This most recent return to analog has been marked by a surge in popularity of physical media and “grandma hobbies” like crosswords, knitting and crafting. Meanwhile, companies are also seeing a shift; the arts and crafts company Michael’s said that searches for “analog hobbies” on its site have gone up 136% in the last six months, while Google Trends suggests a 160% increase in searches for the same term.

My own return to analog finds itself manifested in major scrapbooking projects, taking my notes by hand, converting my digital journal into a physical one, and carving out dedicated time during which my cellphone functions “like a landline” – meaning I have nothing but calls coming through that bad boy.

And while I hate to prove my mother’s generation right in affirming that “life would be better if it wasn’t for all those damn screens!”, I fear they were on to something. Leaning into analog has helped me stay off my phone, forced me to be present in my activities and helped me embrace the sensory joy of it all. From rifling through my purse for a pen or taking in the smell of an old book, to seeing my own handwriting and spending time rewinding cassette tapes, interacting so intimately with the things we enjoy just feels good.

The uniqueness of physical media – defects and all – adds to the thrill of experiencing things you can actually touch. I love when a vinyl has a scratch that no other one has, when an old photograph has a message written on the back, or when my crossword pages bear the markings of my failed guesses. These are the pieces that add real texture to our experiences and color to our memories.

And I feel lucky that the analog life is a re-discovery for me. I’ve lived long enough to have my own library of analog things, and seen how they become a time capsule – a monument to times past and the things we loved.

In that way, I think one of the best parts of the analog experience is we actually get to keep the stuff we use. Book’s gone out of print? I still have my own signed copy. Putting on some music? Well, let me tell you the story about how I found this record at an old store that doesn’t exist any more.

Yes, the digital world means less clutter and less physical waste (yay paperless!), but for all its promises of efficiency, productivity and just making life easier, the digital world leaves much to be desired. An email doesn’t hold the same emotional and tactile quality as a handwritten note from a loved one, and not even the best filters can re-create the feeling of looking at a good Polaroid. As I rebuild my own personal archive of old things, I focus on gathering stuff that I really need, and thinking carefully about how to make my new hobbies and systems as sustainable as possible.

Analog media adds a layer of ownership and intimacy over our experiences of the world that is simply impossible to replicate when those experiences are mediated by a screen and via tech companies. And while we’re nowhere near a post-screen era, the appeal of analog tells me we haven’t completely lost touch with the world around us.

• Tayo Bero is a Guardian US columnist