You’re at a music gig.

This is a gig you booked 2 years ago. It’s a band you’ve wanted to see for 15 years, and the only reason you’re getting the chance to see them now is because they came out of “retirement” to do one last reunion tour (again).

You got standing tickets. You wanted to be right in the middle of the crowd, experiencing the excitement.

You wanted to feel the music, not just listen to it.

And, you wanted to dance. You don’t get to do too much of that these days.

The band you’ve waited 15 years to see are about to come on stage.

You’re excited. This might be the most excited you’ve ever been.

You’re completely in the moment. The crowd are chanting.

Everyone is stamping their feet in anticipation.

The curtains raise. The legends you’ve been waiting 15 years to see are there, in the flesh.

The crowd do two things.

  1. They start cheering. This is fine, because you do too.
  2. They pull out their phones, and start recording.

This is not fine.

You’re suddenly surrounded by a wall of tiny screens all projecting the band back at you.

It’s like being in a hall of funny mirrors but nowhere near as fun.

The band is right there. They’re live on the stage right now, 20 feet in front of you, but everybody is looking at them through their phones.

They’re making sure the focus is right. That the light is good. That they’ve got plenty of juice left in the battery.

You look around behind you and to the sides. The entire dark venue is lit up by white glowing faces.

You’re the only one trying to watch the band with your actual eyes. The band you’ve waited 15 years to see.

Every single other person in the room is looking at a facsimile of the band through their phone. They want to capture the moment so they won’t forget it.

The biggest irony is that they’re missing the moment in the first place.

In a room full of 15,000 people, you’re the only one that’s present.

You left your phone in the car.