As I was sitting on the beach yesterday I realized how dangerously alone we can become. A woman jogs by with headphones in. She doesn't look, she doesn't notice. A man walks along the edge of the water staring at the sunrise through a square, four inch lcd screen on his camera; glaring at the lackluster reproduction on a screen, trying his best to get the perfect shot. Brilliant explosions of pink and orange trapped in uninspired 11 megapixel replication. Over near the pier some girls lay on their stomachs listening to music as they silently sunbathe. Someone sitting in a chair facing the ocean scrolled through Instagram; liking and liking and liking. I myself was trying to get a good shot of the sunrise to post on Instagram. Raising my camera I sneak a shot of a man standing by himself staring into the distant waves. I thought of how alone we all were. Though we are all experiencing this beautiful sunrise together, we are stuck trying to reproduce it for our little digital worlds, or off minding our own business. None of us care for each other. No one know's what is going on in each other’s lives. We're lucky to get a “good morning” out of each other. Together but alone. And as I’m thinking how alone we are, I’m posting my carefully composed, colored, and contrasted picture with it’s cliche caption. I started to get that sinking feeling you get in your stomach when you’ve just done something terribly hypocritical. Here I am mourning the lack of “togetherness" our phones and personal agendas have caused as I upload a misleading post on Instagram. I wasn’t taking pictures of the sunrise at the beach due to whimsy, or adventure, or because I’m disciplined enough to wake up and watch sunrises. I was at the beach because my day had been borderline miserable. I took a last minute trip with a friend in hopes to get my mind off some things that were going to drive me crazy. I was watching the sunrise because I couldn’t fall asleep. I was there because life is confusing and can sometimes suck. I was posting sunrise pictures on Instagram because I’ve always been good at putting on a smile and making people believe everything is ok. Sometimes I can even convince myself to believe it to an extent. A little more contrast, a little more saturation, some sharpening, a vague caption, and everything is still ok. That's how we become alone. We hide what is really going on with what we want to be going on. We’ve somehow built our lives around being together but alone. Then we blame it on social media as if it has made itself an escape reality. We don’t own our pain or messes. We turn ideas like “authenticity" and “community" into buzzwords and hashtags, instead of actions and lifestyles. We forget community and communication come from the same root; we can’t truly have one without the other. The word “authentic" come from two words, “autos” (self) and “hentes” (being)– being yourself. Until we choose to be what we are– whether that’s hurting, or happy, or confused, or apathetic– and begin to communicate that openly with each other, we’re going to be dangerously alone. We weren’t made to be alone. It isn’t good for us. I also don’t think we can blame social media for our tendency to withdraw. Social media is just a too, and believe it or not, I think we can actually be open on Instagram, and Facebook, and Twitter– but only if we want to be. Be present. Be with people. Don’t live for social media, but don’t be afraid to put what you’re actually living on social media. Live for people, not pictures and posts. Shut off your phone every now and then and ask people how they’re doing. Ask them what they’re thinking. Ask what they’re feeling. Tear down walls. Let people in. Ditch the hashtags and start asking how you can actually help. Find out what people are going through and lift them up. Don’t worry about following or being followed– walk next to people, walk together. Don’t let yourself become alone. Don’t let those around you become alone. We were made for and from communion.