I am quite addicted to the shows that don’t require screens, subscriptions, or an Internet connection. I continue to find instructive escape via experiences I can’t pause, fast forward, or conveniently consume in the cracks of my schedule.

Ridgeline sunsets.Moonlight hikes.Lightning shows.Rain on the leaves.Don’t get me wrong: my soul has been marked by TV scenes; I’ve cried hot, cathartic tears after poignant movies; and I spend more hours a week scrolling social media than participating in faith environments. I don’t have the proportions right—in part because the optimal balance may be unknowable.

But I know this: the more our shared culture pushes me to the artificial, the curated, and the convenient, the more I need the opposites of those realities. I find the slow, humble, and tangible gifts of nature to be priceless.

In a world with ever-present bar codes, QR codes, or discount codes, I need the lesson of generosity—of no price tag, no “add to cart,” no sales tax. I also need the example of nature’s magnanimity to confront a mind always thinking in terms of billable dollars per hour.

In a world generating headlines of grift and genocide, inequality and subterfuge, injustice and dehumanization, I’m grateful for the incredible luxury of a quiet dusk from an available overlook.