There’s something deeply unsettling about the way we have learned to value one another in this modern world. The more I observe people, relationships, entertainment, social media, and the conversations happening around us, the more I’m convinced that we have become increasingly obsessed with the surface of human beings while losing our ability to recognize what exists underneath that surface. We look at age, physical appearance, money, sexual desirability, social status, accomplishments, possessions, and the lifestyle somebody can provide, and we often make a decision about their worth before we’ve taken the time to understand who they actually are. What makes this even more disturbing is that this way of thinking doesn’t only affect how we judge other people; eventually, it teaches us to judge ourselves by those same shallow standards, and that’s where the real damage begins.
I’m not talking about one particular man or one particular woman, because this is much bigger than any individual. I’m talking about a mentality that has become increasingly normal in a culture where people can be reduced to photographs, short videos, statistics, relationship histories, bank accounts, body measurements, and whatever else can be displayed or discussed publicly. We have become so accustomed to evaluating people according to what they can offer us that sometimes we forget to ask the most basic question of all: Who is this person? What kind of character do they possess? What have they learned from life? How do they treat people when there’s nothing to gain? What happens to their personality when life stops giving them what they want? Those questions tell us far more about somebody’s value than the temporary appearance of their body ever could.
This becomes especially important when we talk about romantic relationships because physical attraction is real, and I’m not going to insult anybody’s intelligence by pretending that it doesn’t matter. Physical attraction can be the spark that brings two people toward one another, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with appreciating somebody’s beauty or being physically attracted to them. The problem begins when attraction becomes the entire foundation of the relationship and we start confusing the body with the person living inside it. A beautiful body can get your attention, but it can’t tell you whether somebody has integrity. A handsome face can create desire, but it can’t tell you whether somebody is capable of loyalty. Money can make somebody comfortable, but it can’t guarantee that they will remain beside you when your circumstances change. Sexual chemistry can be powerful, but it doesn’t automatically create trust, wisdom, friendship, or commitment.
Eventually, the body changes because that’s what the body does. The face changes, the hair changes, the skin changes, the muscles change, the energy changes, and the physical abilities that once seemed permanent begin to fade. A person who was once strong may eventually become frail. Somebody who once moved quickly may eventually need assistance. Somebody who once possessed tremendous sexual energy may eventually experience a completely different relationship with their body. None of that means the person has become less valuable. It simply means that time has done what time does to every human being who is fortunate enough to live long enough to experience it.
That’s why I believe one of the most important questions we can ask ourselves about love is what remains when the physical advantages disappear. What happens when the beautiful body changes? What happens when the money disappears? What happens when the excitement becomes familiar? What happens when sickness enters the household? What happens when the person who once took care of everybody else suddenly needs somebody to take care of them? Those are the moments that reveal whether we loved the person or whether we simply loved what the person provided for us, because there’s a tremendous difference between loving a human being and being attached to the benefits that come from having that human being in your life.
One of the most disturbing developments in modern relationship culture is the way people sometimes speak about other human beings as though they’re products with expiration dates. Somebody becomes too old, somebody becomes too experienced, somebody has too many children, somebody has gained weight, somebody no longer looks the way they did when they were younger, and suddenly people begin talking about them as though their value has somehow depreciated. It’s almost as though we’ve created an imaginary marketplace where human beings are assigned a price based on age, appearance, sexual history, money, and physical condition. But people aren’t automobiles, and there’s no legitimate book that can tell you what a human being is worth based on the number of years they’ve lived or the condition of their body.
Think about how strange that mentality becomes when you apply it to other areas of life. We often value experience when it comes to doctors, teachers, craftsmen, professionals, and people who have spent years developing knowledge and skill. We understand that somebody who has lived through difficult circumstances may have wisdom that somebody younger simply hasn’t had enough time to acquire. Yet when we enter the world of relationships, some people suddenly begin treating age and experience as though they’re defects. That makes no sense because the same years that may change the body can also deepen the mind, strengthen character, develop patience, and give somebody an understanding of life that cannot be purchased or manufactured.
I think part of the problem comes from the culture we have consumed for decades. We’ve been surrounded by images that constantly tell us what we’re supposed to desire and what we’re supposed to reject. Youth is celebrated as though it’s the highest form of beauty. Physical perfection is displayed everywhere. Money is presented as proof of success. Sexual conquest is often treated as evidence of masculinity or desirability. Relationships can become status symbols, and people can begin looking at partners almost as trophies that demonstrate how well they’re doing in life. When you absorb enough of this, eventually it begins to shape your thinking, and you may not even realize how deeply it has entered your mind until you find yourself judging another human being according to the same standards that were taught to you.
The tragedy is that the same system that teaches us to judge other people eventually teaches us to judge ourselves. A woman may begin to believe that her value is disappearing because she’s getting older. A man may become terrified that his worth is declining because his body isn’t as strong as it once was or because he can no longer command the same attention he received when he was younger. People begin chasing youth, chasing beauty, chasing money, chasing sexual validation, and chasing approval because they’re afraid that if those things disappear, nothing valuable will remain. But that’s precisely where we have to challenge the programming, because if your entire sense of worth is built around things that time is guaranteed to take away, you’ve built your identity on a foundation that was never permanent.
I’m not saying people shouldn’t take care of themselves. Quite the opposite is true. We should eat properly, exercise, stay active, maintain our appearance, protect our health, and do everything reasonable to live a long and productive life. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to look good, feel good, and remain physically capable for as long as possible. But there’s a difference between taking care of the body and worshiping the body. We have to understand that the body is a temporary vessel, and if we make the vessel our entire identity, we’re going to spend our lives terrified of the very thing that eventually happens to everybody.
That brings me to another question that I think people need to ask before entering a serious relationship: Does this person love me, or does this person love what I provide? That question can be uncomfortable because sometimes we don’t discover the answer until something goes wrong. Somebody may tell you that they love you because you provide a comfortable home, financial security, transportation, emotional support, physical intimacy, social access, or a particular lifestyle. They may even believe what they’re saying because the benefits you provide make them feel good, but feeling good because somebody is useful to you isn’t necessarily the same thing as loving the person.
What happens when the money disappears? What happens when the person who always paid the bills loses their ability to work? What happens when the person who was physically strong becomes sick? What happens when the person who was always taking care of everybody else suddenly needs assistance themselves? What happens when the person who once provided a certain lifestyle can no longer maintain it? That’s when the relationship begins revealing what it was actually built upon, because if the love disappears as soon as the benefits disappear, then perhaps the person wasn’t loved as deeply as they believed.
There’s nothing wrong with appreciating what a partner contributes to your life. Financial responsibility matters. Stability matters. Physical attraction matters. Compatibility matters. Family matters. Shared goals matter. But those things should be part of the relationship rather than the entire reason for the relationship. Real love says that I appreciate what you bring into my life, but I value you beyond what you bring into my life. A transaction says that I value you as long as you continue providing what I need. Those two things may look similar when everything is going well, but life eventually exposes the difference.
Real relationships are not built during the moments when everything is easy. They’re built through ordinary life, and ordinary life includes problems. It includes unexpected bills, illness, family issues, disappointment, exhaustion, disagreements, changing bodies, financial pressure, aging parents, children who need attention, and periods when neither person feels particularly romantic or impressive. Anybody can appear loving when everything is exciting, but love becomes much more meaningful when it survives the moments that aren’t exciting at all. That’s where two people discover whether they actually built a friendship, a partnership, and a genuine emotional bond or whether they simply built an arrangement around pleasure and convenience.
This is also why I believe people need to slow down when entering relationships. We live in a culture of instant gratification, and that mentality has entered the way people approach romance. People want immediate intimacy, immediate emotional attachment, immediate sexual access, immediate commitment, and immediate certainty about where the relationship is going. But human beings don’t reveal themselves instantly. You can meet somebody and be attracted to them within minutes, but you can’t know their character in minutes. You can’t know how they behave under pressure. You can’t know how they treat people when they’re angry. You can’t know whether they’re faithful. You can’t know whether they’re financially responsible. You can’t know whether they can communicate. Those things require observation, and observation requires time.
That’s why dating should be about discovery. You spend time with somebody without immediately placing the weight of marriage on their shoulders. You talk. You go places. You observe how they treat other people. You watch how they respond when they don’t get their way. You notice whether they listen when you speak or constantly interrupt you. You pay attention to whether they keep their word. You observe how they handle money, frustration, family, responsibility, and inconvenience. Those ordinary moments often reveal more than any romantic speech because people can rehearse their words, but their habits eventually reveal them.
Then there should be a deeper stage where the relationship becomes more serious and both people begin learning how the other person actually lives. You begin understanding family dynamics, values, expectations, beliefs, habits, goals, and weaknesses. You discover whether the person is capable of functioning as a partner rather than simply functioning as somebody who makes you feel good. You begin asking whether this person can handle the responsibilities of a shared life, because marriage isn’t simply about waking up beside somebody you find attractive. Marriage means eventually sharing problems, responsibilities, aging, illness, finances, family issues, and countless ordinary decisions with the same person.
That’s why I have always believed that people shouldn’t be so eager to skip the process. Dating, courtship, engagement, and marriage represent different levels of knowledge and commitment, and each stage gives people another opportunity to determine whether the relationship actually has substance. If you discover during dating that somebody is dishonest, disrespectful, irresponsible, addicted to chaos, or fundamentally incompatible with you, you can walk away without destroying a life together. But when people rush past discovery because they’re intoxicated by physical attraction, they can end up making permanent decisions based on temporary feelings.
One of the greatest traps in all of this is confusing sexual chemistry with love. Sexual pleasure can be incredibly powerful, especially when somebody is young and experiencing certain sensations for the first time. The intensity can be so overwhelming that a person may believe they’ve discovered something profound when they’ve really discovered a physical experience they didn’t previously know how to interpret. That’s one reason people can become attached very quickly after sexual intimacy. They mistake the intensity of the physical experience for evidence that the relationship itself must be deep.
But sexual chemistry doesn’t tell you whether somebody has character. It doesn’t tell you whether they’ll protect your heart. It doesn’t tell you whether they’ll remain faithful. It doesn’t tell you whether they’ll care for you when you become sick. It doesn’t tell you whether they’ll remain beside you when the financial situation changes. It doesn’t tell you whether they’ll be capable of handling the ordinary responsibilities of life. Sexual intimacy can be part of a loving relationship, but it cannot substitute for the emotional and spiritual foundation that makes a relationship durable.
That’s why I’ve used the phrase “glorified friction provider” to describe relationships where somebody is valued primarily for the physical pleasure they provide. It may sound blunt, but sometimes blunt language is necessary when we’ve become too comfortable hiding reality behind softer words. If the main reason you’re with somebody is what their body can do for you, then you have to ask yourself what happens when their body changes. If the relationship has no deeper foundation, then eventually the physical changes will expose the emptiness underneath the attraction.
A real connection goes beyond that. You begin valuing the person’s personality, humor, intelligence, character, memories, values, compassion, resilience, and the way they make you feel understood. You develop a history together that nobody else can duplicate because nobody else has lived those particular years with you. You’ve experienced victories together. You’ve experienced disappointment together. You’ve laughed about things nobody else would understand. You’ve cried together. You’ve solved problems together. You’ve watched life change both of you. That history becomes part of the relationship, and that kind of value can’t be measured by the condition of somebody’s body.
This is why the idea of loving somebody’s soul is so powerful. The soul represents the deeper person that exists underneath the physical package. It’s the character you’ve come to know. It’s the way somebody thinks. It’s their sense of humor. It’s their kindness. It’s their stubbornness. It’s their wisdom. It’s the memories you’ve created together. It’s the emotional imprint they leave upon your life. Those things become especially important as the years pass because the physical body may become less capable while the emotional connection becomes deeper.
Imagine spending decades with somebody and watching that person age. Imagine watching the face change, the hair turn gray, the body become weaker, and the energy gradually decline. Imagine reaching the point where the person who once cared for you now needs your assistance. Imagine having to help them walk, bathe, dress, eat, or simply get through an ordinary day. If the relationship was built only around physical attraction, those circumstances can feel like the end of everything. But if you loved the person beneath the body, you can still see the same human being standing in front of you even though the physical appearance has changed.
That’s one of the most beautiful things about genuine love. You don’t become blind to the changes. You simply understand that the changes don’t erase the person. You remember the younger version of them while loving the older version that exists in front of you. You recognize that aging isn’t betrayal, sickness isn’t betrayal, and frailty isn’t betrayal. These are simply parts of the human experience that eventually come for all of us if we’re fortunate enough to live long enough.
Unfortunately, we’ve become far too comfortable throwing people away whenever they become inconvenient. If somebody gets older, find somebody younger. If somebody gains weight, find somebody thinner. If somebody becomes sick, find somebody healthier. If somebody loses money, find somebody richer. If somebody stops providing the same level of excitement, find somebody new. There are certainly circumstances where leaving a relationship is necessary, especially when there is abuse, violence, manipulation, danger, or serious destruction involved, because nobody should be expected to sacrifice their safety in the name of commitment. But there’s a tremendous difference between leaving something destructive and abandoning somebody simply because they stopped being convenient.
If we train ourselves to discard people whenever their usefulness declines, eventually we’re going to live in a world where everybody is afraid of becoming inconvenient. People will constantly wonder whether their partner is still going to want them after they become older, sick, less attractive, less wealthy, or less sexually active. That kind of fear destroys intimacy because you can never fully relax when you believe your relationship depends on maintaining a particular level of performance. Genuine love should allow people to be human without constantly fearing that one change will make them disposable.
This is also why self-respect matters so much. If you don’t understand your own value, you may spend your entire life searching for somebody else to confirm it. You may tolerate disrespect because you’re afraid of being alone. You may confuse being needed with being loved. You may accept manipulation because somebody occasionally tells you that you’re beautiful, handsome, special, or important. You may remain in situations that damage you because the attention feels better than the loneliness you fear. That isn’t a healthy foundation for love because desperation can make almost any form of attention feel like a blessing.
You have to become comfortable enough with yourself that you can distinguish between somebody who genuinely values you and somebody who simply wants access to what you provide. That requires personal growth. You have to learn how to communicate. You have to learn how to listen. You have to develop emotional discipline. You have to learn how to apologize when you’re wrong. You have to learn how to recognize manipulation. You have to understand your own weaknesses instead of constantly blaming everybody else for them. You have to become capable of standing alone so that when you choose companionship, you’re choosing it from strength rather than desperation.
And this brings us to another uncomfortable question: What kind of person are you expecting to attract? Everybody wants somebody loyal, honest, emotionally stable, financially responsible, compassionate, physically attractive, and committed. But how many people stop to ask whether they themselves have become that kind of person? If you want loyalty, are you loyal? If you want honesty, are you honest? If you want patience, are you patient? If you want somebody who will care for you when you’re sick, are you prepared to care for them when they become sick? If you want somebody to see beyond your physical imperfections, are you capable of seeing beyond theirs?
That’s where the mirror has to turn around and face us. It’s easy to criticize the dating world. It’s easy to talk about what’s wrong with men or what’s wrong with women. It’s easy to complain about the culture, social media, relationships, marriage, and the behavior of other people. But eventually the question has to become personal. What are you bringing into the relationship? What kind of energy are you carrying? What kind of character have you developed? Can you see deeper into people than you could a year ago? Have you become wiser? Have you become more patient? Have you become more capable of understanding the human condition?
Because if you spend your entire life demanding a high-quality partner while refusing to become a high-quality person yourself, you’re not really searching for love. You’re shopping. You’re looking for somebody who satisfies your specifications rather than somebody with whom you can build something meaningful. And when you approach relationships like shopping, there will always be another product that appears to be better. Somebody will always be younger, somebody will always be richer, somebody will always be more attractive, and somebody will always appear to have something that the person beside you doesn’t have.
That’s how people become trapped in endless comparison. Social media makes this even worse because we’re constantly looking at carefully selected versions of other people’s lives. We see the beautiful photograph, the expensive vacation, the attractive partner, the perfect body, the smiling family, the successful career, and the glamorous lifestyle, but we don’t see what happens after the camera stops recording. We don’t see the arguments. We don’t see the loneliness. We don’t see the financial problems. We don’t see the insecurity. We don’t see the betrayal. We don’t see the emotional emptiness that can exist behind a beautiful photograph.
That’s why comparing your real life to somebody else’s highlight reel is dangerous. You may throw away something meaningful because you’re chasing an illusion. You may look at your partner’s imperfections and compare them to somebody else’s carefully presented appearance without realizing that you’re comparing a complete human being to a photograph. That’s not a fair comparison. A photograph doesn’t have to deal with you when you’re sick. A photograph doesn’t have to forgive you. A photograph doesn’t have to help you through a crisis. A photograph doesn’t have to grow old with you.
A real person does.
And that’s why real relationships require patience. They require us to understand that the person beside us is going to change because we’re going to change too. The person you marry at twenty-five won’t be exactly the same person at forty-five. The person you love at forty-five won’t be exactly the same at sixty-five. Neither will you. The question isn’t whether you can freeze somebody in the version you originally met. The question is whether the two of you can continue growing while still recognizing the deeper person underneath all of those changes.
That’s what makes long-term love so different from temporary attraction. The longer you live with somebody, the more you understand that you’re not simply loving a body. You’re loving a history. You’re loving a personality. You’re loving memories. You’re loving the way this person has become part of your own identity. You’re loving the private language you developed together. You’re loving the experiences that nobody else can duplicate because they happened between the two of you.
And when that person eventually leaves this physical world, something profound can remain. Their body may no longer be there, but their influence can remain in your memory. Their voice can remain in your mind. Their laughter can remain in your heart. Their lessons can remain in the way you live. Their influence can remain in how you raise your children, how you treat other people, and how you understand life. That’s the imprint of a person, and that imprint demonstrates that the physical body was never the entire relationship.
That’s why I believe we need to recover the ability to see people as whole human beings. We can appreciate beauty without worshiping it. We can enjoy physical attraction without confusing it with love. We can value financial stability without turning relationships into financial transactions. We can take care of our bodies without believing that our bodies determine our entire worth. We can recognize that youth is attractive without pretending that aging makes somebody worthless.
Most importantly, we can learn to value character again.
Character is attractive. Loyalty is attractive. Wisdom is attractive. Emotional stability is attractive. Kindness is attractive. Discipline is attractive. A person who keeps their word is attractive. A person who can sit beside you when life becomes difficult is attractive. A person who doesn’t disappear when circumstances become inconvenient is attractive. A person who can see your humanity beyond your physical appearance is attractive in a way that no photograph can fully capture.
Eventually, every body changes. The strongest person becomes weaker. The most beautiful face becomes older. The person who once had tremendous energy eventually slows down. The person who once cared for everybody else may eventually need care themselves. None of that is a failure. That’s the human experience. The real failure is spending our entire lives believing that the temporary features of the body are the permanent measures of human worth.
So I think we need to ask ourselves some difficult questions before we make major commitments. Do I love this person, or do I love what this person provides? Do I value this person, or do I value the benefits attached to them? Would I still want this person if their body changed? Would I still respect them if they became sick? Would I still stand beside them if they lost their money? Would I still recognize their beauty if the world stopped recognizing it? And perhaps the most important question of all is whether I’m willing to offer the same kind of love that I expect to receive.
Because it’s easy to demand loyalty, but it’s harder to be loyal. It’s easy to demand understanding, but it’s harder to understand. It’s easy to demand patience, but it’s harder to be patient. It’s easy to demand that somebody love us despite our imperfections, but it’s much harder to extend that same grace when we’re confronted with the imperfections of the person we claim to love. That’s where the difference between fantasy and commitment becomes obvious.
I’m not suggesting that people should stay in unhealthy relationships simply because they’ve invested years. I’m not suggesting that abuse should be tolerated or that somebody should remain in danger to prove their loyalty. That would be irresponsible. But there’s a difference between protecting yourself from destructive behavior and abandoning somebody because they have become older, weaker, less attractive, less wealthy, or less convenient. If we can’t understand that difference, then we risk creating a culture where human beings become disposable whenever they stop satisfying our immediate desires.
Maybe that’s the real problem we’re facing. We’ve become so accustomed to consumption that we’ve started consuming people too. We consume their bodies, their attention, their money, their labor, their emotional energy, their social status, and their companionship, and then when they can no longer provide what we want, we look for the next person. But human beings aren’t disposable products. You can’t keep throwing people away and expect to eventually discover the perfect relationship, because eventually you may realize that what you were throwing away wasn’t an imperfect product at all. It was a human being who simply required patience, understanding, and the willingness to see beyond the surface.
When you love somebody’s soul, you don’t become blind to their imperfections. You simply understand that those imperfections don’t erase their humanity. You see the wrinkles and still see the person. You see the gray hair and still see the person. You see the sickness and still see the person. You see the physical weakness and still see the person. You remember the younger version of them while appreciating the older person standing in front of you because you understand that both versions belong to the same human being you came to love.
That kind of love is deeper than attraction because attraction is primarily concerned with what the eyes can see. Soul-level love is concerned with what the heart and mind have learned through time. It recognizes the person’s character, their history, their sacrifices, their struggles, their humor, their fears, their dreams, and their humanity. It recognizes that a body can change without the person becoming less worthy of love.
Eventually, every one of us is going to discover whether we understood that lesson. The mirror will change. The body will change. The energy will change. The circumstances will change. The people we love will change. And if we’ve built our relationships entirely around temporary things, we’re going to discover that we never really built much at all.
But if we’ve built something around friendship, loyalty, respect, compassion, shared experiences, patience, character, and genuine love, then the passage of time doesn’t necessarily destroy what we built. In some cases, time can actually deepen it. The relationship becomes less about what the body can provide and more about everything the two people have experienced together.
That’s the kind of love that deserves respect. It’s the kind of love that doesn’t need to pretend that aging isn’t happening because it understands that aging is simply another chapter in the story. It’s the kind of love that can look at a person who no longer resembles the younger version they once were and still recognize the same soul. It’s the kind of love that understands that the person you fell in love with was never merely their face, their body, their money, their sexual ability, or their social position.
They were a human being.
And so were you.
When this life is finally over, none of us will take the house with us. We won’t take the car, the money, the photographs, the followers, the social status, the physical beauty, or the sexual experiences. What remains is the imprint we left on other people and the memories they carry because we were part of their lives. Did they feel loved because they knew us? Did they feel respected? Did they feel safe? Did we make their lives better? Did we stand beside them when there was nothing obvious to gain? Did we recognize their humanity when everyone else was busy judging their appearance?
Those are the questions that eventually matter.
That’s why I believe we have to stop confusing the package with the person. We can appreciate beauty without reducing somebody to their body. We can appreciate youth without insulting age. We can enjoy physical intimacy without pretending that physical pleasure automatically means love. We can value financial stability without turning relationships into transactions. We can take pride in our appearance without making appearance the foundation of our identity.
The body may attract you, but the soul is what gives you something deeper to connect with. Physical chemistry can bring two people together, but character determines whether they can trust one another. Attraction can create excitement, but friendship creates companionship. Sexual intimacy can create powerful feelings, but shared values and shared experiences create the foundation for a life together. And eventually, time will test all of those things.
So before you decide that somebody has less value because they’re older, because their body has changed, because they have children, because they’ve experienced hardship, because they’re no longer physically perfect, or because they don’t fit whatever image the culture has told you to desire, stop and look deeper. You may be judging somebody according to a standard that was never designed to measure human worth in the first place.
And before you demand that somebody recognize your value, make sure you’ve learned to recognize it yourself. Don’t build your identity entirely around being desired. Don’t build your worth entirely around money. Don’t build your confidence entirely around physical appearance. Develop your mind. Develop your character. Develop your emotional maturity. Develop your ability to love and your ability to recognize genuine love when it appears in your life.
Because when the body eventually changes, you’re going to need something deeper than the body. When the money eventually disappears, you’re going to need something deeper than money. When the applause eventually becomes quiet, you’re going to need something deeper than attention.
…And when the superficial things eventually fall away, what’s going to remain is the person underneath all of it. That person was always the real value. That person was always the real story. And that person was always worth far more than the temporary package the world spent so much time teaching us to worship.
