How I Learned to Love People and Not Things

When I was 18, I combined a $1,000 inheritance from my grandmother with the $800 I had saved from tutoring and bought my first new car – a metallic blue VW bug.  I found the best price at a dealership in Costa Mesa, about 80 miles from my home.

While Volkswagen bugs with manual transmissions were never known for their get-up-and-go, this one seemed unusually sluggish on the drive home.  I later discovered I had neglected to release the emergency brake.  While I never made that mistake again, I did run out of gas a few times.  There was no fuel gauge in those early VWs.

I was extremely proud of my new car.  For the first month, I parked it on the street in front of my parents’ house.  One morning, I came out to find that someone had sideswiped my beloved VW during the night.  There were two unsightly scrapes on the left rear fender.  I was extremely upset, especially because I didn’t have enough money to pay for repairs.

I was angry for an entire month.  Then I decided to change my attitude.

I realized that it did me no good to remain upset.  After all, a car is a thing.  If I had the money, I could have it repaired or replaced.

On the other hand, the people I loved could never be repaired or replaced.  I had only one mother, one father, and one little brother.  But I would probably own many new cars in my life, each one hopefully better than the last.

In that moment, I decided to reserve my love only for people, and not for things.  And I’ve kept that promise.  I’ve saved myself a lot of grief by refusing to feel upset when a “thing” is damaged or destroyed.

By contrast, when my brother died unexpectedly about 20 years ago, I was devastated.  On a deep level, I still am.

Ironically, my red Tesla now has two scrapes on its rear fender.  Both were my fault – the exit to our office parking structure isn’t as wide as it should be.

I like my car a lot.  But I do not love it.

I reserve my love for you.

Alan