Used People

The approach you take to buying something new is far different than buying something used. The premium price of “new” commands perfection--no flaws, blemishes, or surprises that disappoint. If it’s a car, even the smell must be right.

The standard for “used” is lower. Simply put, we expect less. We’re not looking for spotless--we’re looking for something we can drive to work. It isn’t fresh from the factory. Perfection is unrealistic, and we shrug away wear and flaws as part of the deal we are getting. Door dings, coffee stains, and intermittent rattles come with “used”. We accept them because the object of our desire has a history. Before we encountered it, someone else stood in the slush of winter and scraped its windows. We overlook the incidental mars and mangles and appreciate the item for its intended purpose, because no one expects perfection after use. After all, “used” means something has been used. “Used” comes with a willingness to forgive.

Instead of the perfection expectation that comes with “new”, I’m thinking life might be easier if we treat everyone we meet as “used”. Everyone has a history. We’ve all been through a few fender benders. The paint gets chipped and the upholstery stains. Each of us has been on the road long enough to get us where we are, and--self-delusions and best intentions aside--we aren’t perfect. I’m not saying we don’t hope for change and improvement. I’m saying we cut each other some slack in the judgement noose.

The expectation of “new” rivets our attention to our standards: “Does this person meet my checklist?” The “used” posture focuses more on the relationship: “I know neither one of us is perfect, but how can we make this work?” Whether it’s the guy behind the register or the gal you might put a ring on, they’re used. Value the relationship, not the new car smell. After all, what is between people matters more than what is behind them.