It's human nature to want to dominate. To be the first somewhere. To plant our flag. To claim as our own. To assign our name to something we merely stumbled upon. I find this desire increasing in my own life at a shocking pace. Every sight needs a snapshot. Every wonder needs my own fingerprint. Surely this isn't a new a development in human nature, right? A backwards step in our human evolution?
Though cameras and smartphones have magnified it, this desire runs deeper than our culture and place in history. It runs to the heart of man, which is always asserting itself when it has no right to.
I'm not here to be another voice that bashes selfies or our Instagram addicted world. I simply notice a trend in my own heart, which leaves me robbed and wanting. If I have arrived somewhere beautiful without the ability to capture it in some way, I feel racing and uneasy. I don't know how to simply admire beauty anymore!
I remember being a kid and how easy it was to get lost in what surrounds. Every new location was a playground, not a photo shoot. Though one day when I am older, I will have hard drives upon hard drives of images more crisp than the views ever were themselves (which is a GOOD, cool thing!), I am afraid that what those pictures will remind me of is that I never knew how to take it in in the first place.
I let my camera soak it in for me. I find a similar issue in my normal life, in things like spending casual time with my family or spending an evening out with friends. I don't know how to soak it up. I feel like a sponge so saturated with my own concern for myself (measured in the form of Instagram likes or other’s admiration) that I cannot enjoy the richness of the company around me.
They say that beautiful things do not ask for attention and yet that's all I seem to be doing. In fact, I wield beauty's lack of attention seeking and turn it into a way to get some attention for myself. Look where I've been, look what I'm up to, look what my eyes saw.
But I begin to wonder, did I even look at it at all? How do I begin to? I'm on my way to see the Grand Canyon for the first time. Part of me doesn't know what to expect. Part of me feels like I've already seen it. And though I've brought my camera along for the ride, I hope that I'll be able to soak it in. I hope I can soak in more light than my camera ever could. Or just the opposite, I hope that it is so grand, that I can't quite soak it all in. I hope I stumble into something infinitely bigger than myself, and not just in size.
It's about the Maker of the Grand Canyon, not the observer.