I’m standing in the Badlands of South Dakota.
If you’ve never been there, let me explain something.
This place looks like Mars and the Grand Canyon had a baby… and then forgot to water it.
Jagged ridges.
Layered cliffs.
Spikes of rock shooting into the sky like nature got carried away with a carving knife.
It is, without question, one of the most dramatic landscapes in America.
And the story of this place runs deep.
The Lakota people called it Mako Sica — “bad land.”
Not because it wasn’t beautiful.
But because it was hard.
Hard to cross.
Hard to survive.
Hard to conquer.
The same brutal terrain that turned wagons and cavalry patrols into nervous wrecks became a refuge for Lakota warriors and families. A place where outsiders got lost, thirsty, confused… and sometimes wisely turned around.
For centuries it served as:
• hunting grounds for bison
• a refuge during conflict
• a maze of ridges where entire groups could vanish from pursuing soldiers
Nearby lie the Black Hills — Paha Sapa — sacred land to the Lakota. Vision quests, stories, and spiritual traditions all flowed through this vast prairie landscape.
So naturally…
Standing there…
I try to imagine the reverence they must have felt.
The silence.
The sense of connection.
The spirit of the land.
I’m trying to absorb all that history.
Trying to feel the presence of those who walked this ground long before us.
Trying to experience a moment of quiet reflection.
And then…
I notice something.
Everywhere.
Everywhere.
Selfies.
Tourists.
Phones.
Arms extended like human flagpoles.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Now listen — I don’t want to sound like a Debbie Downer.
But I do have a question.
Do you really need proof that you were here?
Are people not going to believe you?
“Wait… you went to the Badlands?”
“Yeah.”
“Prove it.”
“Hold on, let me show you 47 photos of my face blocking the entire landscape.”
And I think I’ve figured out what’s happening.
There’s no cell service.
So people can’t call anyone to say:
“Hey, I’m in the Badlands and it’s amazing!”
Instead they look at their phone and think:
“Well… I can’t call anyone.”
“I can’t text anyone.”
“I can’t post anything.”
“…I know!”
Selfie.
I’m convinced this is a cultural issue.
We Americans simply don’t vacation enough.
Years ago Trish and I met a German couple in Costa Rica.
They told us they were “on holiday.”
I asked how long.
Six weeks.
Six weeks!
Apparently every German gets six weeks of vacation.
To them it’s normal.
Like eating a bowl of Cheerios.
Meanwhile Americans take a four-day weekend and act like we’ve completed an expedition to the South Pole.
Maybe if we traveled more…
Maybe if seeing incredible places became a normal part of life…
We wouldn’t feel the need to document proof that we actually left the house.
Now don’t get me wrong.
Maybe I’m turning into a curmudgeon.
It’s possible.
But here’s the thing.
IT’S THE BADLANDS.
A place of survival.
A place of history.
A place where the Lakota found refuge in the maze of rock and prairie.
A place of sacred memory.
So if you ever find yourself there…
Put the phone down for a minute.
Take a breath.
Look around.
And appreciate the moment.
Because sometimes the best souvenir…
Is simply remembering
you were there.
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