The Perfect Gift
I do not want presents. At this point in my life, I no longer need any more stuff. Besides, the average duration between my recognizing a desire to possess something and making a purchase of that thing is measured in nanoseconds, so good luck giving me something I really want. The entire exercise of gift-giving and receiving is fraught with risk and tension.
Do you ever get a good answer to the question, “What do you want for your birthday?” Do you have a good answer? When I say that I don't want anything, I'm afraid people think I'm being disingenuous. The en vogue answer is that people value experiences more than things, but a gift certificate for a spa day is about as forgettable a gift as one can give.
I have refused to answer the “what do you want” question for years. As a result, I have accumulated a bunch of unwanted stuff and probably hurt more than a few feelings along the way when those things went unused. This is likely to be especially true if you gave me a bottle of wine. Please don’t. It is time to come up with a better answer.
After much thought, I have decided that the undivided attention of a friend is the thing I value above all else. That makes the perfect gift some dedicated time doing something enjoyable together. I’m not sure if it matters what the activity is, but I suspect that I would appreciate it more if it were apparent that a lot of thought and effort went into the plan.
So, what I genuinely want is for you to suggest that we take a day off and have a memorable experience together that requires some forethought and planning. Let’s go hike to a waterfall, take a train somewhere and back, explore small town shops, visit an old dance hall, try some exotic cuisine, or do something ridiculous like bathing an elephant. I wouldn’t say no to flying to New Orleans for lunch. We can even take our phones with us as long as they are only used to document our time together with photographs.
The loving attention of another is a rare and precious commodity. It makes the perfect gift.
