I started Presence Over Pixels because I’m genuinely concerned about our ability to connect—really connect—with one another beyond social media scrolls and emoji reactions. A major catalyst for POP was sitting at events where the shared human experience was disrupted by screens. Where people were more focused on capturing the moment than being present for it.
I remember one moment in particular. Our son played Coalhouse Walker in the musical Ragtime. He was absolutely amazing. My husband and I sat proudly in the center section, third row from the stage. Our seats were perfect. The curtain rose, the first note struck, and right in front of us, a woman began recording. She literally, actually, seriously recorded the entire 3hr show on her cell phone.
Not only was she recording, but each time she had to stop and restart or snap a photo, her phone made a sound because she also did not turn off the sound from her phone. Between the glowing light and the clicking noises, I struggled to fully immerse myself in the performance. I was there, but I couldn’t be present.
We’ve been recording our children’s plays and school performances for decades, so I understand the instinct to preserve a memory. (Even if, technically, it infringes on copyright 🙄.)
But recording an entire concert you paid good money to EXPERIENCE?
The sound quality isn’t going to be great. The lighting won’t translate. And above all, the person filming is missing out on one of the few truly collective experiences left today. It’s frustrating to be surrounded by people who are more focused on getting “the shot” than sharing in the energy of the moment.
I’ve asked friends and family who do this, “
Why?” The most common answer: to preserve the memory. But I push back: Does everything really need to be documented?
Before smartphones with built-in cameras, we took pictures and videos with intention. We had to think about it—carry the camera, make sure we had film or space on a memory card. That meant we reserved our recording for special moments.
Now? We capture everything. And I get it, but just because we can record everything doesn’t mean we should.
Some people document their lives for scrapbooks or photo albums, and that’s beautiful. But even then, it’s worth asking: What is the cost of constant documentation?
If you’re relying on social platforms or even a photo service company to preserve your memories, just remember, those platforms might not exist 10 years from now. Anyone logged into their MySpace lately?
More importantly, presence isn’t something we capture - it’s something we experience.
Think back to a time when you didn’t have your phone and you had the best time. Maybe you laughed until you cried. Maybe you danced with strangers. Maybe you felt goosebumps at a shared moment of beauty, truth, or joy. That kind of presence? That can’t be posted.
So yes, take the picture. Just don’t let taking the picture be the point.
Next time you're somewhere beautiful, don’t reach for your phone right away.
Look up.
Breathe it in.
And maybe you’ll decide the memory is enough.
You don’t need to show it to everyone.
Or even anyone.
