There’s a show on the History channel called “American Pickers”. It’s essentially Pawn Stars meets Antique Road Show meets Hoarders and chronicles the lives of two men who travel the heartland to find treasures where others see junk. They’ll happen upon a farm that appears to grow rusted ruins instead of corn, traipse around with the always elderly owner, and barter over pennies to purchase what others wouldn’t give a second look. What amazes me most is, unlike Pawn Stars, they are not flipping these renovated treasures for huge profits. In many cases they make about a week’s worth of Starbucks Coffee. 
So, what in the hell is my point? Each of the items in these residential junkyards was once brand new and full of promise. Each item represents the hard work, innovation, and dreams of some inventor/creator who either wanted to make a difference, make a buck, or both. These relics were brought into this world with care and intention, polished to perfection, and wrapped in packaging meant to keep them safe until their rightful owner was found. At times, the new owner was not good and destroyed the object well before its useful life had been reached, but in most cases these objects were used properly and with a great deal of love. Yet somewhere along the way they just stopped being needed. Now they are strewn across acres of rubble, mere memories of what could have been. Their time has now passed; they are either no longer working or no longer needed. Their future holds nothing more than remaining in their inanimate retirement homes collecting rust until they either disintegrate or simply become part of the earth. These items were once purchased by someone. Someone thought enough of them at one point to part with their hard earned money in order to have them part of their possessions; some for pleasure and others for necessity. Sure, fads change, although I defy you to find me anyone who doesn’t appreciate a good Radio Flyer in mint condition. The “must-haves” of yesteryear will undoubtedly become obsolete by even greater innovation in our drive for ultimate efficiency and perfection (look no further than the phonograph replaced by the record player, replaced by the 8-track, replaced by the CD, now made extinct by the MP-3 thanks to our friends at Apple). The saddest part of the story is with each newer version, the quality of the product decreases as the features and coolness factor infinitely increase. 
Again, so what the hell is my point? These inanimate objects are really no different than we are as humans. We are all born into this world full of promise with an endless array of opportunity and options. We are, in most cases, the product of someone’s dream; a 9 month creation filled with hope and love. We are brought into this world carefully wrapped in our cotton swaddles to keep us warm and safe as we get used to the harsh environment in which we now dwell. Most of us are lucky enough to be a part of a loving family who protects, nourishes, and encourages us in our growth. Some are not so fortunate and draw the short straw of abuse and neglect until their useful life ends much too early. Then somewhere along the way, or maybe gradually all along, we begin to lose our usefulness to those around us until we eventually become obsolete. If you are lucky this doesn’t happen until well into your advanced years, but I think we all begin to feel it much earlier. Our options become limited. People look at us in a different way and eventually we are replaced with the younger and more efficient versions of ourselves. With each generation the quality of character decreases as their abilities and coolness factor infinitely increase. What really makes this sad is we often times do it to ourselves. We tell ourselves we can’t instead of we can. We settle in order to make money, make someone else happy, meet social pressures, or any number of other convenient excuses we give until we find ourselves in the human version of the cornfield junkyard we call our lives. All along we sit there collecting rust, hoping against all hope that someone notices the value in us we once had. 
Yet again, what the hell is my point? My point is we all either give rust or help to polish it away. We all have the ability to put a little shine on someone who has grown a little dull after years of exposure to the often harsh reality that is the daily grind. We can all look through our own personal cornfields of family, friends, and acquaintances to remember why we included them in our collection in the first place. My collection includes GI Joe with the Kung Fu Grip, a candle holder, a complete set of Blue and White army figurines, Gumby, a Carrot Top Poster, Snoopy, Pluto, Rin Tin Tin, Father time and Mother Goose, the two best Cabbage Patch Kids ever made, and a priceless bottle of wine with a beautiful bouquet that proves the adage it only gets better with age. It’s small by choice…helps me prevent the rust and neglect.We don’t lose value, we lose attention. We grow rust out of neglect. And don’t let yourself become a meaningless part of an overgrown collection. Demand more and know your own value. The difference between us and the 1950’s bicycle partially buried in the mud and brush is we all have the ability to stand up, brush away the dust and bramble and walk away. So I leave you with one final question. How many treasures have you let leave your own farm for mere pennies on the dollar?
