Imagine a Sunday morning. Coffee in hand, phone on the table, and on the screen a flood of notifications: an ad for shoes, a friend’s holiday photo, a message from work. Everything at once. Everything fast. Everything instantly available.
We scroll, we click, we like. It feels as if we’re “connected” to the world—but are we truly connected to another human being, or even to ourselves?
I sometimes feel that life has turned into one giant supermarket. We grab emotions, images, relationships off the shelves. We consume them quickly and just as quickly put them back. And so it goes, day after day. But surely, life is meant to be more than that.
Being wanted – a spark that fades
Being wanted can feel intoxicating. Someone notices us, someone needs us, someone takes an interest in us. But that feeling is like a struck match—bright, yet fleeting.
At work, we may be “wanted” because of our skills. But does that mean we are valued? Not necessarily. In relationships, we may be “wanted” as long as we provide someone with emotions, closeness, or entertainment. But when life gets difficult, that sense of being wanted often vanishes like smoke.
Being valued is something deeper. It’s when someone sees our worth not only when we’re useful, but in the wholeness of who we are—flaws, failures, and all. It’s when someone says: you may not be perfect, but you matter.
A consumer society and the hunger of the soul
We think we live in times of abundance. Store shelves overflow with goods, the internet bombards us with stimuli. Yet amidst this abundance, a strange hunger grows—the hunger for meaning, for closeness, for authenticity.
The soul does not feed on discounts, it is not nourished by likes, it does not find peace in endless to-do lists. It needs something else: silence, a heartfelt conversation, eye contact, a moment of awe at something greater than ourselves.
That’s why so many people—despite having everything they “need”—still feel empty. You can have your hands full and still feel hollow inside. You can eat every day and still starve—if you don’t feed your soul.
Respect – nourishment for the spirit
Perhaps we’ve forgotten that respect is more than politeness. It is a way of nourishing another person. It’s saying: I see you. Not as a function, not as a source of benefit, but as a human being.
In a world that moves at breakneck speed, pausing for another person is an act of courage. The courage to say: you matter not because of what you give me, but because of who you are.
And isn’t that what we all long for? Not just to be wanted, but to be truly valued. Because that’s what gives us a sense of grounding, of meaning, of depth.
A spiritual note
Spiritual traditions across cultures have always carried the same reminder: that human beings are not objects to be used up and discarded, but souls to be cherished. We cannot reduce a person to their utility without wounding something essential in ourselves. To treat another human being as a product to be consumed is to forget that they are, like us, a living mystery, carrying their own sacred dignity.
Every faith and philosophy, in its own language, insists that people are not tools but values in themselves—reflections of something greater, infinite, eternal. And when we stop to honor this truth, when we allow ourselves to see beyond the surface and into the depth of the human spirit, something changes in us. We move from grasping to giving, from consuming to committing, from wanting to truly valuing.
Perhaps this is the nourishment our age is starving for—not more things to possess, but more reverence for life itself.
A question for all of us
Perhaps it’s worth asking ourselves: do I want to be consumed—or do I want to be valued?
And another: do I consume other people, or do I truly engage with them?
Because in a world obsessed with speed and surface, the most precious things are those that take time and respect.
Maybe, then, the greatest luxury of our time is not money or success, but a moment when someone looks at us and says: I don’t just want you—I truly value you.
Closing reflection
Life, after all, is not meant to be a race through a crowded marketplace, grabbing whatever shines most brightly. It is more like tending a garden: planting, watering, waiting, and cherishing what grows. Relationships, dignity, respect—these things take patience, care, and presence.
If we can learn to cultivate rather than consume, to value rather than merely want, we may finally discover that the richest harvest is not what we take from the world, but what we nurture within it—and within each other.
Love,
Laura
