Turning the Camera Back Around: Rediscovering the Beauty in Front of Us
While watching a documentary about our nation’s parks, one detail stopped me in my tracks. Every visitor was holding a camera, pointed outward, in awe of the mountains, waterfalls, and endless skies before them. Their lenses were drawn to nature’s raw, untouched magnificence.
It made me wonder: When did we decide to turn the camera around?
Somewhere along the way, the focus shifted. Instead of capturing what was before us, we began capturing ourselves in front of it. The waterfall, the canyon, the forest became backdrop, while we became the centerpiece. The moment was no longer about being immersed in the grandeur of the scene—it became about curating a memory for others to see, a highlight reel to showcase to the world.
This isn’t to say that snapping a photo with ourselves in it is wrong. But what happens when the search for the “perfect shot” overshadows the very experience we came to have? When the glow of the screen dims the radiance of the sunrise before us?
The parks, the oceans, the mountaintops—they aren’t performing for us. They are inviting us. They are calling us to pause, to breathe, to feel the wind, the quiet, the sheer majesty of being alive in that space.
There is serenity in choosing to take just one picture of a breathtaking view, then putting the camera away. Even more so, there is serenity in choosing not to take any picture at all. In those moments, you aren’t curating—you’re connecting. You’re practicing presence, a mindful awareness that allows nature to imprint on your heart and mind in ways no photo ever could.
So next time you find yourself in front of something beautiful, ask yourself:
Am I capturing this to remember, or to prove?
What would I notice if I stopped framing the moment and simply lived it?
How can I let this beauty be enough without needing to be in the center of it?
Sometimes the most profound souvenir isn’t the image on our phones—it’s the stillness, the memory, the quiet joy of simply being there.
