My sister has not received a gift from me this season. There is no number with which to track it, no "Your Order Has Shipped" subject line in my inbox. This is because it has not been ordered, and if I'm being honest, it hasn't even really been contemplated. It's not on my to-do list -- and everything is on my to-do list. (Watch movie: Check.)
Last week, the Awl ran a piece in which the writer, Dave Bry, made the case for ending holiday gift-giving for adults. "Why do we go to the trouble?" he asked. "So everyone can have to fake more excitement and gratitude than they actually feel upon opening them?" He had a point, and given the number of times the article was shared, it was clear he struck a nerve with this proposal. He wasn't anti-generosity, he was just anti-mandated-generosity:
"Presents at other times of the year, random days on the calendar, are fine. Like, if you're going over to someone's house, you should bring a bottle of wine. Or if you're browsing in a bookstore and you find a book you think a friend would like, by all means, buy it for her or him."
For the past year, my sister and I have been practicing a version of what he preached. We used to exchange gifts on our birthdays and during Hanukkah, but last year, I offered up a new idea: What if, instead of buying presents for special occasions, we just sent each other two gifts a year, gifts that could be given at any time? I was months overdue on a gift at the time, which she quickly pointed out, but I promised I would take care of that one before this new plan began in earnest. After that, if one of us got behind on the giving, the other would be allowed to hold off until the balance was restored.
My sister and I are fortunate that our parents and grandparents have always been able to provide us with more than just the essentials. So when it comes to a gift exchange between us, there's nothing we need -- and thus no real reason to dip into the bank accounts maintained by journalism and PR salaries to stock each other's apartments with more stuff. We could give up the ritual altogether, as many adult siblings do, if not for the fact that we don't want to. As she told me a few years ago, in what I assure you was an incredibly loving tone, "Yeah, I want a present, b*tch."
Because we have somewhat similar taste, my sister is one of the few people I actually enjoy shopping for. But because we also tend to like things that cost more than either of us can afford to spend haphazardly, I make sure to get her things she will truly appreciate. Yes, I could just go to a designer's website and pick out something in my price range in order for her to have something from me arrive exactly on her birthday or the first night of Hanukkah, but how much does she really want that luggage tag? Instead, to capture the ideal gift when I found it, I would end up designating things as "early birthday presents" or sending e-mails to inform her that her gift would be delayed. This was due, in part, to the ten-month gap between the holidays and her October birthday, a gap in which the perfect items would inevitably appear. And, thanks to my April birthday, she faced a decent gap for my occasions as well. Now it doesn't matter. Our deal has eliminated the timetable and explanations.
Last August, I happened to see a bracelet that jumped out at me as something she would wear. So I ordered it and shipped it to her right then. No sending it to my place to hold for the right time. No passing on it because I couldn't afford to dole out gifts on a whim. It arrived at her apartment at a time when she wasn't expecting it and when she wasn't also receiving presents from the rest of the family. A month or so after that, I came home to find a package containing a chunky scarf that I love. And that's one of the things I like most about this new tradition: It brings back that "I thought of you" moment. Not that the gifts given by those on a deadline aren't meaningful, but there's something special about knowing someone was just out and about (or in and online) and stumbled across something that brought you to mind.
Happy holidays, Leslie! Your gift's not in the mail.