Recently, I ventured out with friends to experience one of my favorite artists perform, Father John Misty. After the opener finished, their small set-up was taken down and the stage was prepared for the main act. The only “decoration,” so to speak, took form of a large neon heart with the words “No Photography” in the middle. The huge, color-changing reminder really made me start thinking about experiencing life through a lens.
Of course, rules are hard to follow. Many around me snuck a few pictures and I managed to sneak a few, as well. However, in the lengthy gaps between my sly snaps, I realized how much more enjoyable this show was compared to others I’ve been to. In general, I think FJM is just really impressive live, but the lack of screen to face ratio definitely improved my experience.
With my phone tucked inside my sweater pocket, I experienced a sense of true connection. Other than my three friends, here I was sharing this intimacy of favorite songs with a group of complete strangers. Together we sang (or shouted) the lyrics to every song and danced as best we could. This moment was so much better than sending a constant stream of snapchats to friends who had never even heard of FJM.
So, it was this experience that started me thinking. As much of a phone addict and sentimental hoarder as I am, maybe I had to agree with the neon heart. Would I have enjoyed this show half as much if I had spent the usual amount of time on my phone? No way. I may have had videos of what happened but I would barely remember it for myself.
Staying away from our phones is difficult–and that’s understandable. Phones are our modern day security blankets. As someone who suffers from anxiety, I turn to my phone far too often to save me. I use it to avoid interaction and to avoid awkwardness. The more I turn to it, the more I essentially avoid life.
It’s silly to expect people to barely look at their phones. It’s silly for me to expect that from myself. What should be expected, however, is to barely look at phones during moments when real-life connection is going to transcend that virtual connection. Concerts, sports games, plays/live performances and other events where a group of people are together to experience something they all enjoy.
If I go see an artist I enjoy perform, why worry about sharing it on Snapchat, or Twitter, or Facebook? I’ve never taken a picture or video of a concert that did it justice, anyway. There’s something about live music you can’t capture. People crowded together in the darkness, moving in unity to a beat and belting out lyrics that somehow, some way hits their heart. From now on, I’ll be experiencing this feeling unrestricted. At any time if my hand reaches for that rectangle in my pocket, I’ll remember a neon heart that screams, “No Photography.”
