Nothing Stays New Forever

When we buy something new, a car, a phone, a shiny piece of furniture, there’s that unmistakable feeling of excitement. We marvel at its perfection, with its unblemished surface, flawless paint, and the crisp smell of “new.” We promise ourselves we’ll look after it. We’ll keep it spotless. We’ll be careful.

But time, as it does, quietly reminds us that nothing stays new forever.

A little dent. A scratch. A faded patch from the sun. No matter how lovingly we care for something, life always leaves its fingerprints. And maybe that’s the point.

It’s the same with us.

As humans, we begin life fresh and unmarked, but we don’t stay that way. We collect stories, some beautiful, some painful. We grow, we evolve, and along the way, we gather scars both inside and out. A heartbreak that cracked us open. A disappointment that left a mark. A triumph that changed the shape of who we are.

We often try to hold onto “new” to stay unwrinkled, unhurt, unchanged. But that isn’t living; that’s preserving. And preservation is not the same as presence.

Like that new car, we too are meant to be lived in. To go places. To weather the storms. To feel the sun and the rain. Our scratches and dents are not flaws; they’re evidence that we’ve moved through life, not around it.

The real beauty isn’t in keeping things perfect, it’s in appreciating how they change with us. Every mark tells a story. Every scar whispers, “I’ve been somewhere, I’ve felt something, I’ve learned.”

So maybe the goal isn’t to keep anything, ourselves included, looking new. Maybe

it’s to keep it alive. After all, nothing that stays untouched ever really becomes extraordinary.