I love buying and giving gifts. My psychiatrist heard this and told me I must be mental, which made me laugh quite hard. And yet it’s true. My husband gave me a budget this year for getting people presents as part of my own Christmas present. It makes me happy to pop into shops, see things that remind me of friends, and buy them. My plan is that I’ll be able to do this all year round once we get finances all settled after medical expenses die down (crossing my fingers, saying a prayer and finding some rosary beads).  

There are only two things that aren’t fun about buying gifts. One regards money. Sometimes I find the perfect gift and discover it’s out of my budget.  Other times, because I believe in quality, small shops and paying full price as my own meager way of resisting a market built on slave labor in third world countries, I run out of money before I’ve bought something for everyone on my list. 

The other joy-sapping scenario is one in which I feel pressured to buy something for someone whose tastes remain elusive to me. I’m a designer and strongly empathetic, so I can get a pretty good sense for most friends. But every once in a while there’s someone who remains mysterious. This year, my mysterious Christmas gift recipient was a 16 year old boy. 

This particular boy is a person whose mother I know very well, and because of this I’ve heard numerous stories and seen a multitude of pictures. I can tell he’s a confident, somewhat nerdy person with great wit and a lot of expressive energy, and he’s a country boy. He’s a good kid. From all of the above I can tell quite a bit, but still, I’ve got to do more than give him chocolate every year, ice cream doesn’t ship well, he’s not into sports, and he hasn’t seen enough Dr. Who episodes to understand those kinds of references on t-shirts or memorabilia. When I found out my Dr. Who idea wouldn’t work, I got a little worried. 

Today was the day. His mom told me he wanted a warm hat that had some personality. Seattle has plenty of hats with personality, but then I realized, he lives in the country and shops at Walmart. His idea of personality might be quite a bit more restrained than what I can find on the West Coast. 

I started shopping in Fremont, the self-proclaimed center of the universe. I went to the small stores I thought viable, finding presents for Melissa, Kristen, Chris, Sharon and Nicki. I laughed myself silly reading a little book entitled “All my Friends are Dead” right in the middle of a shop. I found a fair trade nonprofit group that sells incredible Peruvian pillow covers and bags, but no hat.  And right before I realized I’d left my purse at the hippie vegan restaurant where we’d had lunch, I did discover and purchase (with Keith’s help) a solid chocolate dinosaur. 

45 minutes and a heart attack later, we were on our way to Ballard, having found my purse hiding behind a chair. It took me over an hour to find my way down from the anxiety stratosphere, but then I was ready to try some more. 

Just for the record, Ballard is sick. I mean, the shopping is truly epic for someone with my particular tastes. There were twinkle lights everywhere, judging by the clamor in the sports bars the Seahawks were obviously winning their game, and I only had to visit a handful of delightful little shops before finding It – the perfect hat.  Yes, it was on a mannequin’s head but in the wrong color. I was directed to the “hat room” in the back, where the shop cat was sleeping on a blanket on a shelf over a heat lamp. There was one hat left in the appropriate color. It was an epic moment in which I stood triumphant, knowing I had found the hat that had Josiah’s name invisibly written on it in magic ink.  Victory was mine. Hopefully I will retain said victory by getting all the presents wrapped and mailed in time for the actual holiday. 

I’m trying to find a deeper meaning in this. I want my blog to be characterized by depth, sensitivity and charm, as well as a certain air of mysterious abstraction that embodies my weird little spirit. I don’t mind digging a little. Let’s go for depth. 

Why do I love buying gifts?  Am I indeed mental?  It’s not always easy. Am I looking for approval?  I’m sure that may leak into it occasionally. Mostly I think that giving gifts is a way I can express my affection. Real friends won’t care if my selection is a bit off sometimes. They’ll receive in the same way I would from them, grateful that they thought of me. There are so many painful things about life that I can sometimes become overwhelmed with the burden of all the brokenness that I see in the ways we humans treat each other. It’s a comfort to me to take a small moment to express my affection for people I love. There’s a softness about it that knocks out a few edges and makes life easier to bear. I want so badly to make the world a better place and I am so profoundly limited in what I can actually do to create change. Giving some little something away just to make someone smile makes me feel a bit better about walking around on planet earth. It reminds me what my feet are for and that I can do other small things. I can buy a blanket for a homeless person, donate socks, hug a friend who looks sad, listen when someone is hurting. I can call my parents for five minutes from my therapist’s office. I can walk a student to the counseling center and attend a prayer vigil for peace. 

If I can find the perfect hat for a 16 year old boy, I can do almost anything, damn it. It’s not about the hat. It’s about listening for the heart of the potential receiver and responding as accurately and sensitively as possible. We need a lot more listening in our country right now. I think we always will, so I think it’s okay to celebrate the opportunity to give the gift of an open ear, or heart, or pocketbook. In being generous we can forget about ourselves, even if some call us mental for enjoying it. If we’re really lucky, we may even get to guffaw over a silly book in the middle of a crowded room, while searching for the perfect hat.