When it comes to diamonds, you'd be a real fool to spend Tiffany-quality time, money and effort on a flawed one. Marriage-obsessed girls, like Anne Hathaway and Kate Hudson's characters in Bride Wars, can rattle off the cut-clarity-carat-color rankings and their desirabilities in order of priority.
But since when do we evaluate human beings on the same callous categories of worth? Are we really going to throw someone out of our lives just because he/she doesn't seem to exhibit immediate potential? Are we going to allow our preformed prejudices and ignorances to blind us to the person within?
Never tell me that people aren't good at math. We pick and choose our friends based on some complicated mental algorithm:
[personal benefit] x [hotness factor] x [influential connections]÷ [threat to self-worth]
We consistently elect the better-looking politicians, side with the hotter babe even if she cheated on the less-attractive partner, judge acquaintances based on their looks, mock socially awkward people to their faces, and choose sex appeal over friendship when it comes to finding bridesmaids. However, God forbid that someone do the same to us... that just makes them shallow and judgmental.
I've been thinking about this topic all month, triggered by visiting family. I've been crossing threads about "how extraordinarily beautiful/ugly people see the world" and reading this new blog I found. What's the beauty in human perfection, anyway?
I like my people a little bit flawed, a little bit damaged. I like my men with rougher, calloused hands. Who wants a sissy boy whose hands are softer than yours? (You know who'll be doing all the dishes in that relationship!) I relate best to the friends who have suffered a little genuine sorrow or hurt in their lives.
If the biggest concern in your life is that your best friend won't speak to you over a misunderstanding, I don't really know how to comfort you. If your biggest priority in life is to make as much money as you possibly can, I wouldn't be able to give you ideas on how to spend it - because you aren't actually living a life. If you had everything you ever wanted, the moment you wanted, I wouldn't be able to relate to you because that, simply put, isn't really the story of my life.
Yet I wonder if those beautifully marked with the scars of life's worst would think the same of me. Will they look at me and think, "She hasn't suffered loss of life or limb or loved one... Her behavior proves that she's still too shallow to understand even a fraction of what I'm undergoing." Would it really take that serious of a shock for me to deepen my empathy quotient? Or is it merely a discipline that anyone could master, given the effort?
We practice Heimlich maneuvers in First Aid trainings and drills, but walk past people suffocating for love without a second glance. We shed buckets of tears over the atrocities in Darfur, but the girl who sleeps around "deserves to be raped." We plan to spend our lives benefiting the less fortunate, but make cutting remarks against Mexican immigrants.
Do you think souls can be switched on like that? What if it's more of a sliding switch? What if when we come around for them, we find them shriveled and atrophied?
Whether its acquisition lies in discipline or empathy, compassion towards societal misfits is hardly a glamorous quality one checks off a brag list with aplomb - Mother Theresa was anything but traditional sexy. But even a feeble attempt to put yourself in one's shoes - to step out of one's comfort zone to invite another in - could go a long way toward brightening one hurting person's day, even if you end up the only person immediately improved for the interaction. Perhaps your simple action may save a life.
People aren't diamonds. That one person you touch is worth everything you invest, every time you invest.
