Chapter 1: The Experience Over the Screen

It was a moment I had eagerly anticipated all day. I found myself on the picturesque Greek coastline, seated beside an ancient temple, ready to witness the sun dip below the Aegean Sea. Yet, I wasn’t alone; a crowd of several hundred tourists joined me.

The tour buses had emptied, releasing a swarm of eager travelers who, like me, had traveled great distances and spent considerable amounts for such an experience. Most were on strict schedules dictated by guides who had likely made this trip multiple times already — climb up, watch the sunset, and rush back to the bus by 7:45 PM sharp!

Despite the staged atmosphere, the scene was breathtaking. The weather was impeccable, the sky was clear, and seagulls danced above the water. We watched the sun gradually descend behind an island, igniting the sky in brilliant hues of orange and red.

Then, a drone zoomed past my head, disrupting the tranquility. It darted across the shimmering path of sunlight on the water, piloted by someone who seemed more interested in capturing the moment than savoring it. While the rest of us marveled at nature's beauty, he was focused on maneuvering his remote control, securing footage already captured by thousands before him (a quick search revealed over 2,200 drone videos of this very spot).

In his quest for social media validation, he missed the sunset in real-time, but he was ready to share his creation online. Mission accomplished: content collected.

As the beauty of the moment peaked, a young woman near me began to sing “Chandelier” by Sia, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was interrupting the shared experience. Her performance wasn’t meant for the gathered crowd or even her friends, but for the camera that was capturing her every move.

Once she finished, she received a few half-hearted cheers from her peers. Realizing she had jumped the gun, she turned back to the sunset and belted out parts of Leonard Cohen's “Hallelujah” for her friend's phone. Success! She may have been distracted from the experience itself, but she had secured her footage. Mission accomplished.

A few days later, on my flight home, I had a layover in Paris. Though I wasn’t seated by the window, I hoped to catch a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower. However, the woman in the window seat had lowered the shade, leaving just enough space to see the bottom of her phone, where the record button was actively pressed. She was filming the view instead of enjoying it.

When we landed, she finally opened the shade and retrieved her phone, having missed the actual landing but ready to share a time-lapse online. Mission accomplished: content collected.

I don’t claim to be above the allure of social media; after all, I’m writing about my life in hopes of reaching a broad audience. Yet, this collection of experiences left me feeling melancholic.

Before the pandemic, social media already influenced people significantly, but during my travels, I noticed a shift. Many seem to view the world solely through their screens, opting to collect experiences rather than truly engage with them.

Many collectors are gathering experiences primarily for their own use. Throughout my travels to remarkable museums, I observed visitors snapping photos of nearly every exhibit, often blocking others from enjoying the same artifacts. A particularly stern German woman even chastised me for being in her shot.

While I appreciate photography, do people realize that museums maintain websites with high-quality images of their collections? It seems that many of these photographers are more focused on capturing the perfect shot than actually appreciating the artifacts in front of them.

It’s one thing to take photos for personal enjoyment; it’s another to sacrifice real-life experiences to project an image of those experiences for others.

Every stunning location I visited recently had people waiting impatiently in line, absorbed in their phones. Upon reaching the front, they would pose dramatically, take a selfie, and rush on. Content collected — but did they genuinely experience the place?

I crave likes just as much as anyone else, but this trend feels like a sign of cultural decay. People invest vast amounts of money, contribute to pollution, and dedicate significant time — all for what? It appears that the objective is less about feeling the sand beneath their feet or the sun on their skin and more about showcasing that they’ve done it to others.

Our experiences have become meticulously curated, staged, and presented. Our attention is so fragmented that we can’t fully engage in once-in-a-lifetime moments. Instead, we fret over how to perform these experiences for an audience.

It would be much simpler to set up a green screen and pretend we’ve gone somewhere.

As that drone whizzed past, I felt a fleeting urge to throw a rock at it; I restrained myself. When the girl prepared to sing “Hallelujah,” I considered casually walking through her shot; I resisted. I did, however, linger longer than necessary in front of the German photographer. I was there first, after all!

I recognize that I may sound like a grumpy old man, but this all felt rather dystopian — a crowd of people feeding experiences to their phones instead of savoring them.

In each of these moments, I wished I could shout at them: this is your one opportunity to be present, and this is how you’re choosing to spend it? Life should be about more than merely collecting content.

The first video discusses essential insights before diving into collecting, featuring GaryVee and DJ Skee at Fanatics Fest 2024.

The second video addresses clutter and collecting addiction, offering guidance on reclaiming your life and space when collections become overwhelming.