The Editor’s Experience: Just look up at the beauty around you

Every Fourth of July, something unusual happens. Thousands in Houston County sit shoulder to shoulder in lawn chairs and do the exact same thing.

They look up at fireworks.

They look up in Centerville. They look up in Byron. They look up in Perry. And they look up in Warner Robins.

I know because I was there this year after a multi-year hiatus.

While my colleague Owen captured the sights of Perry’s celebration, I was tasked with three very different nights of my own.

I spent Wednesday, Friday and Saturday bouncing from event to event with a camera in hand. My assignment was simple: photograph the fireworks. Capture the joy. Capture the patriotism. Capture the moments families would want to remember.

So, like everyone else, I found myself looking up.

Between waiting for the next flash of color and trying to anticipate where it would bloom in the night sky, I realized something: these moments were doing more than filling the dark.

For a few brief moments, thousands of people, all with different backgrounds, different worries and different stories, shared the same perspective. Every eye was fixed on something above.

The first celebration was at The Assembly at Warner Robins, a local church which oddly has a Byron mailing address. The church is known for community outreach and making people feel at home.

By the time I arrived, lawn chairs were already claiming their spots. Children bounced in inflatables while parents chatted nearby. Food trucks stayed busy, music filled the space, and volunteers made sure everything was ready before the first firework ever left the ground.

The fireworks were still an hour away, but no one seemed to mind. Sometimes the gathering is part of the celebration.

Centerville’s celebration in Center Park was the same: food, fun and music from a Journey cover band. I said hello to the mayor, claimed a spot with my lawn chair and observed the park come alive to the tunes of “Faithfully” and “Don’t Stop Believing.”

There was just one problem: I arrived alone.

My husband wasn’t able to join me either of those two nights, which meant I walked into a party surrounded by families, couples and groups of friends without my usual person beside me.

As a journalist, I’m used to being the person behind the camera. I’m there to observe, to document and to tell other people’s stories. But that evening, I found myself noticing my own story a little more, and that changed how I saw the night.

It’s a strange feeling to be surrounded by hundreds of people and still feel lonely.

I captured families spreading out blankets and dividing snacks. I saw friends laughing as they waited for the fireworks to begin. I witnessed couples holding hands as they looked toward the sky.

I was probably the only person who came without someone to sit beside, but thankfully, that didn’t last the whole week.

For the Warner Robins show, I had my husband with me, but nothing else went as planned.

We couldn’t find parking. As someone with a story to cover, I could feel my frustration growing. My vision for the night included dancing to “Celebration,” observing the crowd, enjoying the atmosphere, taking the perfect photos and getting a celebratory snow cone.

Instead, we ended up in a grassy field nearby with dozens of people who shared the same fate. Groups I spoke to said they chose the field. They didn’t feel like walking to the venue in the Georgia heat. I completely understood. My husband was in the same camp, and I was okay with a walk, but I didn’t feel like going in alone again.

At first, I was disappointed. But then the fireworks started. The trees that had blocked my view became part of the picture. The field became our own little spot. And the person I wanted beside me was there.

My husband, who had repeatedly suggested we call it a night, was enthralled by the explosions in the sky. Seeing his eyes sparkle made every small setback along the way all the more worthwhile.

I had been so absorbed in what I was missing that I almost missed what was right in front of me. The night wasn’t perfect, but it was still beautiful.

I came to those celebrations with a camera and a mental list of things I needed to capture. But somewhere along the way, I realized the most important moments weren’t something I could put in a photo gallery. 

For some, myself included, these moments of wonder directly reflect faith in God and a sense of contribution to a master plan. Across all beliefs, they are about pausing to appreciate beauty, connection, or the unexpected. 

It is remarkable how we look up together, collectively forget our struggles and stresses, and focus on something bigger than ourselves. Maybe that is the true magic of unity.