We live in a world
where almost everything can be returned.
Buy it. Try it.
If it doesn’t fit, doesn’t suit, doesn’t feel right that day -
send it back.
No questions asked.
Full refund. Full satisfaction guaranteed.
At Christmas, it becomes almost a ritual.
Gifts are bought, wrapped, placed under the tree,
already carrying the quiet understanding
that some of them will go back.
Shoes are ordered in three sizes.
Clothes in two colors.
Try them on. Keep what works.
Send the rest back.
Sometimes even what was worn once,
lightly, carefully,
still goes back.
I once sent back chocolates
because they arrived melted.
Perfectly reasonable.
Completely accepted.
And slowly, without us noticing,
something shifts.
Not just in what we buy.
But in how we see.
We become less careful before we choose,
because we don’t have to choose carefully.
We become less patient after we choose,
because we don’t have to keep what doesn’t feel right.
“If broccoli has a problem,
you send it back to the farmer.
If a phone doesn’t work,
you send it back to the manufacturer.”
“So if you have a problem with me,
take it up with my manufacturer.”
Sam says it jokingly when I complain about his attitude.
And we laugh.
Because it’s ridiculous.
And because it isn’t entirely.
Somewhere, deep inside, there is a truth.
Very quietly, before we realized it,
we have started to expect
that everything should fit us perfectly.
That anything slightly off
can be replaced.
Returned. Exchanged. Corrected.
But people
don’t come with that kind of guarantee.
They are not tried on.
They are not returned.
They are not refunded
because they didn’t meet expectation
on a particular day.
People are not broccoli.
And maybe this is where
the shift needs to happen.
Not everything that feels imperfect
is meant to be sent back.
Some things
cannot be returned.
Some things
cannot be fixed
by sending them away.
Some things ask
for something else.
Time.
Effort.
Patience.
And lots of love.
Not the easy kind.
The choosing kind.
The staying kind.
Because not everything
is meant to be replaced.
Some things
are meant to be worked through.
Gently.
Imperfectly.
Over time.
And maybe that is the part
we are still learning.
In a world of easy returns,
how to stay
when something isn’t perfect.
And discover
what becomes possible
when we do.