It’s a beautiful, hazy morning in the north woods. The layer of fog gives the scenery more depth. Truly breathtaking!

It’s so true. Beauty needs a witness.

And I am truly blessed to be there.

Yet, there’s that impulse… to pull out the phone. To snap a picture. To keep the image of beauty. Forever.

Followed by that realization… is that really necessary? I get it though. It feels hypocritical to even mention it.

Why not capture it? Relive the beauty over and over again? As if there’ll never be any more beauty?

Or better yet, share it? Put it on the Facebook? The Instagram? Show it to the world! Five likes! More!

But, no.

I left my phone in my pocket. I basked in the view. In the end, we will only have our memories. Perhaps there is value in capturing a snapshot of that moment in time. Of some moments.

Not all.

Again, I fear I’m a hypocrite… for Instagram is a reminder of so much beauty in the world.

I must remind myself to take a step back.

Yes, that snapshot of the African landscape is amazing. Your hamburger looks delicious. Do I wish I was with you on a beach in Ibiza? Hell, yes!

And those abs you’ve obtained on your fitness journey? I am truly impressed, especially since you’re sharing workout and fitness details.

Then there’s those alluring ensellures. I grow weak.

I must remind myself to take a step back.

If the beauty on Instagram is so overwhelming, doesn’t that indicate that beauty, while it needs a witness, is also common?

Yes, that SoCal blonde with brown eyes is beautiful and funny and sensational. Yes, that New York Latina is luscious and sensual, yet oddly introverted. Yes, that Thai beauty who makes cupcakes ignites the wanderlust, and the Thai cravings.

What about that gorgeous brunette at the gym, who’s name (or social media handle) you do not even know. And the wonderful, tanned law school student who’s boat you magically ended up on at a lake concert. And the flirtacious coffee shop owner with the freckles and blue eyes who you find yourself fantasizing about at odd hours of the night.

Maybe there is value in that these observations, these memories, are mine. Maybe everything doesn’t need to be shared. Nor captured. Only remembered.