In the library of my mind, I hold many images of Christmases past. There’s a young girl at a Christmas fair, eking out her pocket money to buy gifts for her family. On the next page the same girl is huddled at the desk in her bedroom, hand-stamping Christmas cards. Then she is opening the first door on her Advent calendar on December 1, a hint of Christmas magic encircling her.
The girl and her brothers are opening their stockings by the light of the landing, each reaching in to find a bag of chocolate coins, a clementine, and a silver dollar tucked into the toe.
Only a handful of my memories are directly related to what was contained inside wrapped packages on Christmas Day. Instead, it is the anticipation of those gifts that features most prominently, and the fun of giving and receiving. I can’t actually remember what was left under the tree for most years. I wish I had reminded myself of this before embarking on the journey that is “Christmas with Children.”
As I have mentioned, our elder daughter was born on Christmas Day. One year later, on her first birthday, she snuggled into bed with us first thing in the morning and opened the tiny stocking that held her first-ever Christmas gift—a little white rabbit. She kept looking to each of us, then back to the rabbit, as if she couldn’t quite believe it was for her. It was so precious, but sadly thereafter, her wonder faded with each additional gift, of which there were far too many.
As it was her first birthday and Christmas combined, our family and friends went overboard and our large tree was swamped by a deluge of gifts. It took all day to open them, and we were left knee-deep in wrapping paper and pink plastic presents, feeling an odd mix of gratitude and nausea.
After that, we knew something had to change. So first we asked the family for no more plastic gifts, and they kindly obliged. Then Mr. K and I decided to stop exchanging gifts with our siblings and contribute to a kitty to buy one present for each niece or nephew. These days there is less pressure, less waste, and less regret, and the children really appreciate the gift they are given.
Mindful gifting comes down to three questions: whether to give, what to give, and how to give.
Gifting is part of the fabric of human relationships in every culture on earth. And make no mistake, it is a social contract. You give to me, I accept the gift, then I am obliged to reciprocate by giving you something of equivalent value. Anthropologists say the only exception is gift-giving between parents and children, when parents obviously tend to spend more while their children are young.1
This cultural waltz is so powerful that it causes annual stress and drives us to the cash registers in droves.
The simplest way to deal with it, and reduce unnecessary spending and waste, is to release as many people as possible from this social contract by not buying them anything. If you have always exchanged gifts with someone, you may need to have a slightly awkward conversation so they don’t invoke the contract once again this year. But if you talk it through with them, they should soon understand that this could be the most generous gift you can give each other.
In The Book of Joy, an account of a weeklong conversation between Archbishop Desmond Tutu and the Dalai Lama, the two wise elders identify and then whittle down eight “pillars of joy”: “Four [of the pillars] were qualities of the mind: perspective, humility, humor, and acceptance. Four were qualities of the heart: forgiveness, gratitude, compassion, and generosity.… We would end up, ultimately, at compassion and generosity.…”2 I believe that mindful gift-giving is supported by both of these “pillars.” It is with compassion that we consider the recipient’s preferences, current circumstances, and needs; and it is with generosity that we sacrifice something—be it money, time, or energy—to present the gift to them. Compassion without generosity is pity, rather than gifting. Generosity without compassion—buying without considering the burden of a return obligation—is not really generous at all.
When we give with genuine generosity and compassion, we generate joy for the recipient and ourselves.
These days, with so much access to credit, if we want something, we buy it. Indeed, we can usually have it in our hands within twenty-four hours, our lust almost immediately sated. This is convenient, and it has given us far more choice than our parents and grandparents ever had, but it has also erased the thrill of delayed gratification, and made it surprisingly difficult to choose gifts that people really want or need. Nevertheless, we keep on spending and giving, and the landfills keep on growing.
One report suggested that sixty million unwanted gifts were given in 2018 in the UK alone.3 That is probably a conservative estimate. A survey found that six out of every ten presents gifted to a sample of two thousand adults were unwanted.4 Given that so many of us are stretching our finances and stressing about buying these presents, this seems an outrageous waste of money, a glaring environmental problem, and a wholly unnecessary burden on our collective mental health.
Economists have a name for the difference between what we know we have actually spent on someone else and what they perceive we have spent on them: the “deadweight loss.” According to a notable paper on the topic in the American Economic Review:
An important feature of gift-giving is that consumption choices are made by someone other than the final consumer. A potentially important microeconomic aspect of gift-giving is that gifts may be mismatched with the recipients’ preferences. In the standard microeconomic framework of consumer choice, the best a gift-giver can do with, say, $10 is to duplicate the choice that the recipient would have made. While it is possible for a giver to choose a gift which the recipient ultimately values above its price—for example, if the recipient is not perfectly informed—it is more likely that the gift will leave the recipient worse off than if she had made her own consumption choice with an equal amount of cash. In short, gift-giving is a potential source of deadweight loss.5
The study suggests that holiday gift-giving destroys between 10 percent and one-third of the value of all gifts, depending on who does the giving. By this reckoning, at least $70 billion is wasted in the United States alone every Christmas through this “deadweight loss.”6
Just imagine the benefits to our wallets, well-being, and the world if we were to eliminate any unnecessary, wasteful gifting, and instead focus on a few mindful gifts for those who really matter to us.
Every year, I see people filling bags and baskets with special offers in the run-up to Christmas, muttering, “That’ll do for so-and-so.” But we all know that the likelihood of that person’s ideal gift somehow coinciding with the latest three-for-two offer at the supermarket is minutely low. If you choose any old bargain as a gift for someone, it begs the question whether you should be buying them a Christmas present at all.
Take a moment to think about each friend or relative you really want to offer a gift to this year. Ask what they need right now. Maybe discuss it with them well ahead of time. It’ll be fun and they’ll be touched by your thoughtfulness. Pick their brains with probing questions such as, “What’s your secret dream?” “What’s holding you back?” or “What are you curious about?” This can help you to choose a meaningful gift, and your present will remind them that you really listened to what they had to say.
Here are my three gifting guideposts to help you decide what, if anything, to give to someone.
Gifting Guideposts
Before you choose a gift, ask yourself:
1. Is it mindful?
2. Is it meaningful?
3. Is it memorable?
A mindful gift shows you have been paying attention. For example, we were grateful when our friends and family respected our request not to give plastic presents to our children.
My friend Mandy Gentleman, who lost her beloved mother five years ago, received a particularly thoughtful gift from her mum’s best friend last Christmas:
Betty gave me a box filled with dozens of photos of Mum that I had never seen. Memories that made me feel closer than ever to her on a day I find truly tough. Tears fell down my face, but they were tears of happiness, partly because of the pictures, but also knowing how much Betty must care for me to take the time to dig out all the photos. It was one of the best presents I’ve ever been given.
Before you buy any gift, ask yourself the following questions:
There’s no need to answer “yes” to every one of these questions, but if the majority of your answers are “no,” it’s probably worth thinking again.
Meaningful gifts have an extra layer of value. For example, my younger brother handcrafted the mantelpiece for our home, and my dad promised to plant hanging baskets that would give us blooming flowers all summer long.
The following questions can help you choose a truly meaningful gift:
Finally, will the recipient remember your gift? Will it live on in their mind and heart long into the future? For example, my older brother once sponsored a chair in my favorite café where I would often go to work. He had a brass plaque with a humorous, personal message screwed into the back of it. I didn’t own the chair or take it home with me, but I thought about my brother every time I sat in it, and his donation supported a small business I cared about.
Sarah Alden, mother of two teenagers, came up with another inspirational idea:
This year I gave my children a box called “The Gift of Time,” with twelve envelopes in it. On the first of every month they open one of the cards and it tells them what we are going to do together. We put it in the diary and make it happen, then write about our adventures in a scrapbook to leaf through at the end of the year.
The following questions can help you choose a memorable gift:
An anthropological study of gift-giving in the United States concluded that we wrap presents to transform them from impersonal commodities into sentimental gifts.7 The study suggested that homemade gifts—and particularly food gifts—are less likely to be extravagantly wrapped because they are already deeply personal by virtue of being made by hand. So, could it be that the wrapping is just as important as the gift itself? If that is the case, we could probably spend a lot less on gifts as long as we take a little extra care wrapping them.
As a teenager, my dream Saturday job was wrapping presents at one of the glitzy stores on Oxford Street in London. My love of parceling things up has now become part of our family lore, enhanced by many years in Japan, where wrapping has been elevated to an art form.
I must admit that I enjoy wrapping even more than thinking up presents for people. There are just so many possibilities with fabric and paper, ribbons and tags. Each decision is a tiny joy, and the process itself can be deeply therapeutic. Mr. K likes to write cryptic clues on gift labels, while I love nothing more than creating a treasure hunt that leads step-by-step to a hidden present.
Linda Maitland, now in her sixties, told me about a particular childhood Christmas with a smile:
When I was seven I really wanted a bike. I remember opening a box with a note inside that said I had to recite my nine times table. Then another note leading me to a big box that took ages to unwrap. There was a bell in it, with a note saying my parents would be saving bit by bit for a bike. I believed that, but after a few more games I was blindfolded and led into the kitchen, where my new bike was revealed. I screamed with joy. How I loved that bike.
If you don’t like wrapping, try turning it into a mindfulness exercise. Focus on the feel and sound of the paper as you cut and fold and stick it, and think about the person who will unwrap the gift.
For all my love of wrapping, I do worry about the environment, and the huge amounts of waste that are created every Christmas. The more we buy and give junk we don’t want or need, the more we feed the problem. Being more mindful about what we give, how much we give, and how we give it benefits not only our wallets and stress levels but also the planet. And there are ways to wrap without waste.
Top Tips for Saving Money and Reducing Waste When Wrapping Gifts
Crafting was a huge part of Christmas for me when I was growing up. I adored making my own cards, cotton-wool snow, felt Father Christmases, twilled paper stars. There was deep satisfaction as the products rolled off my personal production line, and I was able to think about each of my friends as I wrote out their names in my bubbly teenage writing.
These days, Christmas cards are declining in popularity, as consumers switch from large packs to individual cards, e-cards, and even social media messages. One 2017 survey suggested that fewer than half of all twenty-five- to thirty-four-year-olds in the UK send any cards at all.11
Copywriter Louise Heaps, who spent fourteen years writing greetings cards for Hallmark,12 recalled sweltering midsummer planning meetings during which Christmas music was played in an attempt to get into the festive spirit. Ultimately, her job always boiled down to finding words that would help customers communicate understanding, caring, and empathy.
Personally, these days, I send only a handful of Christmas cards to people who have been particularly supportive over the course of the year and those I will not see over the holidays. I buy themed stamps from the post office, set aside an afternoon with a festive drink and some Christmas music, and write brief letters inside each one. It’s lovely to feel the flow of ink on paper and let someone know you care. It’s also a gentle way to reach out to someone who may be having a hard time: there’s no need for them to respond, but they will know they have been in your thoughts.
Finally, what will you give yourself this year?
One friend of mine bought herself a two-day retreat. Yet another gave herself the gift of quitting her job.
What would be a mindful, meaningful, and memorable gift for you? Have you told anyone else about it? If not, perhaps you should get it for yourself.