Category Life
Published January 29, 2026
photo by Alex Bäuml
Story Scent: salty air, damp sand, cigarettes and coconut SPF
Story Flavour: sea salt, of course, and mango sticky rice
Story Sound: some relaxing ocean waves, white noise
I had a thought at the beach this evening.
What if lifting our phones to take a photograph isn’t a sign of detachment at all, but a new kind of ritual?
Imagine it without context.
A small rectangular object kept in our pockets. When something beautiful appears, we take it out, lift it with both hands, and point it in appreciation.
Very ceremonial, actually.
Frankly, spiritual – even though that word tends to make my eye twitch.
Let me set the scene properly.
I was lying alone on an electric blue towel, oscillating between reading, journaling, pondering and repeatedly submerging myself in the waves. That hazy blissful beach-state where time just loosens its grip on you.
The sun was setting rapidly and unapologetically before me, like a glowing orb slipping into the ocean. So absurdly orange. Red at the edges. Ridiculously show-off levels of beautiful.
It was the kind of sunset that feels almost theatrical. The kind that commands your full attention.
As it reached the horizon, something quietly hilarious happened.
Everyone raised their phones.
In unison.
Every human on the beach, arms lifted, a small rectangle raised skyward.
Truly a sight to behold. It was both comical and adorable.
It looked less like people scrolling and more like a congregation responding to a cue. As if the sun were a performer taking his final bow and we were all there to acknowledge it.
Thank you.
Bravo.
We saw that.
It’s easy to say phones pull us away from life, that they fracture experience, cheapen beauty, interrupt awe.
And more often than not, they absolutely do. I’ll be the first to admit, I can be such a hater when I see people filming absolutely everything.
PLEASE, I think.
Just put the goddamn phone down.
Be present.
Look with your RAW EYEBALLS.
But strip away the context of technology – all that discourse, anxiety around presence, feelings of disconnection, being chronically online – and what I saw didn’t feel hollow at all.
It looked strangely tender.
A collective gesture of attention and appreciation. Several hundred people wordlessly agreeing that this is something worth witnessing.
Just humans, quietly admitting: Look at that.
A simple and unanimous recognition of beauty.
photo by Alex Bäuml
For a brief moment, it was undeniably endearing. I was touched.
It felt less like detachment and more like devotion.
Not distraction.
Not distance.
It’s kind of beautiful actually, that we keep inventing new ways to show admiration. New gestures. New languages for awe.
Perhaps humans will always find them.
It gives me hope for humanity.
Maybe just the tools have changed.
Maybe the impulse hasn’t.
Maybe sometimes we’re not documenting because we’re removed from the moment, but simply because we don’t quite know where else to put the feeling of wonder anymore.
It’s not anyone’s fault in particular.
It’s just our modern worship. Our form of modern digitally-fuelled worship.
Standing still in the presence of beauty is surprisingly hard.
Wonder is restless.
Wonder desperately wants somewhere to go.
And perhaps more than anything, wonder wants to be shared.
It’s so lovely to think that every single person on that beach wanted to send that sunset to someone they love.
I noticed a girl sitting alone too, not far from me. As the sun began its slow descent, I watched her pull out her phone and FaceTime a friend. When the screen lit up with her friend’s face, her mouth fell open at the sunset extravaganza, and suddenly they were both clucking away like delighted hens.
Pure joy.
Nothing quite says I love you like: “Look at this beautiful thing. It made me think of you.”
At least in my books. My love language 101.
So – we lift the rectangle.
We frame the light.
We say, via the only communication channel we’ve been given lately:
Wow.
This moved me.
Ancient humans gathered like this too, I imagine. Not with glowing screens, but with open palms, firelight warming their faces, watching the sun fall into the ocean and understanding without words, that something sacred was happening.
We still gather.
We still pause.
We still feel that quiet internal urgency when beauty appears and we don’t know where to put that feeling.
God, I can really never shut up about sunsets. I lose my mind every time, gushing like a fool.
And it happens every single day without fail.
Every. Single. Day.
And every day, humans and animals alike gather to witness it. Gather just to watch something we know will happen… happen.
Simply because it’s beautiful.
What a pure moment.
How many things in life do we experience alongside hundreds of strangers?
It’s like the biggest concert in the world. Everyone assembled for this one star performer. No encore (till tomorrow). Unbelievable work ethic.
Best show yet.
And then tomorrow comes and we say it again.
“No, actually. This one. Yes, this is the best one.”
And on and on, for eternity.
Because if there’s one thing humanity never seems to tire of, it’s the sight of an orange sun lowering itself gently into the earth.
How lucky are we to live on a planet where that happens every day?
Blessed feels like an understatement.
I’ll worship the sunset in any way I know how, until my last one.
How nice to have a gentle thought about the black rectangle attached to all of our hands – for once?
