Dear Gift-Givers,
I am hard to shop for, and I know it. I don’t really like stuff and things; I like places, people, and experiences. I’m not drawn to the fancy, the luxury, the high end; I am more pleased by bargains, efficiency, resourcefulness, and utility. I am also a horrible recipient of gifts; I do not frequently offer the sort of major visual reactions that creative gift-givers hope to elicit. I’m a real piece of work.
At our core, I feel like most minimalists don’t hate gifts. I swear -- we really don’t. I think one of the major problems is that the types of gifts we minimalists prefer are not the type of gifts people want to give or think they’re expected to give, and trying to break that social expectation and convince people it’s ok to go rogue in this way is pretty tough. People often think they need to spend a certain amount of money or procure a certain magnitude of thing in order to have sufficiently pleased their friends and family. When it comes to minimalists, don’t worry! In my case, let’s just say my Amazon wish list of a new tape measure, carabiners for my stroller, a dustbuster, and new bowling shoes didn’t knock any gift-givers’ socks off.
I guess my hope as a minimalist is always that -- while I know a gift giver should be free to gift as the conditional love of their gift-giving sees fit -- they’ll consider the type of gift I’m hoping for as they creatively decide. Some gift-givers are wonderfully considerate of this. At my recent birthday party, one of my friends gave me a gift card to a movie theater to help treat my wife, Katherine, and me to a date and flatly declared that this gift of a bought-and-paid-for experience was chosen “because you don’t like stuff.” However, folks frequently insist instead on the more conventional gift route; thus, the considerations a minimalist might hope for can get easily set aside in favor of the things and the stuff.
But rather than rambling on about simplicity, minimalism, and aversion to materialism, I need to admit the problems I introduce and aggravate in this equation with my imperfect attitude, chiefly that my outlook clouds my ability to be grateful. Rather than receive a gift and express gratitude and appreciation before all else, my mind jumps all too quickly to my thoughts and opinions on the gift.
Just the other day, my dad brought me a rally towel from the Bears-Packers game, a big win he witnessed in person by which the Bears clinched their first division title in eight years and eliminated the Packers from playoff contention (with help from the Vikings). Rather than immediately thank him for thinking of me by grabbing an extra towel off the seat next to him, I responded, “I already have one of these from a game earlier this year.” My mind leapt instantly to the rally towels already on my office wall, in my daughter Lucy’s toybox, and sitting in piles in my bedroom, a portrait of the excess of possessions I’ve incidentally accrued. Rather than fixating on excess, my priority should be gratitude. Say “thank you,” Dan. UGH. Facepalm emoji. The idealism in my mind wishes the world would meet me closer to halfway than I think it tends to do, but by worrying too much about that, I mess up the most important part -- expressing love by my gratitude first and foremost.
So, to all of you creative, thoughtful, selfless, others-oriented gift-givers:
First, SORRY! Minimalism can get us tied up in austerity so intently that we’re not attentive to the love, generosity, and thoughtfulness demonstrated by others. Please accept my apologies for how such a perspective can spill over and extinguish gratitude. You don’t deserve such a poopy reaction.
Second, please keep trying to challenge your creativity to meet a minimalist halfway. Tickets to a show or concert? A membership or subscription to a great periodical or event venue? Admission to a museum, zoo, or neat attraction? A donation to a favorite charity? A custom coupon promising a future experience together? Any effort toward the gift of a shared experience and new memory goes a long way.
Third, THANK YOU! Even though we minimalists may not give the effusive, demonstrative reaction to gifts that you may hope for, thank you for doggedly attempting to love us and care for us nonetheless. Your earnest attempt to bring love in the world by giving of yourselves is worth doing, even if we as recipients can seem a bit grinchy. While we hope we can work toward healthy, moderate ways to live out minimalism, we also need your creative warmth to temper us and love us.Sincerely,
Dan, a clumsy minimalist
No comments:
Post a Comment