A few years ago, my husband and I decided to stop buying stuff for each other for the holidays. This decision came about when, one year, after looking at each other over piles of wrapping paper, boxes and ribbons, we realized how much money we had individually spent to prove how we felt about one another. That next year we decided we wouldn't buy things, but instead would buy services.
I bought him play tickets (from which I always benefited as well, of course, since the idea was to take me along), dinner coupons (well, I guess I benefited from those too), magazine subscriptions (technically a magazine is more stuff but it somehow felt different than an actual gift), and astrology readings. I was the recipient of certificates for massages, facials, and a weekend at the Dwelling, to name a few. None of these items disturbed the Feng Shui of our house, and greatly improved the Feng Shui of our spirits.
Still, when we added it all up, we managed to spend a lot of money on one another. This year, we decided to try an even more conservative approach. "We're not going to spend more than $100 between us on services and certificates," we affirmed. "Fifty dollars each is the limit." On first go-around, I liked this idea. It certainly seemed appropriate in light of the current world situation. It fit in with our simplified life-style. What a great idea.
However, as the holidays have gotten closer, I've come to think this is a dumb idea. I have a picture of the two of us sitting in our living room handing over a certificate wrapped in the Sunday paper comics tied with string (gift wrap is not exempt from the $50 limit) - how pathetic can it get? I suppose I could get two certificates worth $25 each to create more of an experience, but $25 doesn't buy even one good theater ticket these days, let alone two. Except for the National Enquirer or Cat Fancy, a magazine subscription is more than $25. Even a massage would take the entire $50 amount.
I could see where this was going - I was going to have to make something. Imagining my husband struggling to get the knot out of the string on his present to find a box of home-made cookies, made by me, was too much. Possibly mistaking them for rice cakes, I could see him looking at the contents of the box, then looking at me, then looking at the contents, then back at me. Of course, he wouldn't want to hurt my feelings, but I knew he wouldn't be able to discern whether he was to eat them or plant them.
A certificate for a "Romantic Dinner for Two" wouldn't be any better. Having to listen to the whispered swearing coming from the kitchen while I cooked, he would hardly feel comfortable - or romantic. Or I could make those little cards that say "Good for one kiss" or "Good for one foot massage" or "Good for an evening walk" - but I know myself well enough to realize the ramifications the first time my appreciative husband might try to cash in on one of those little cards.
Simplicity is such a big part of my life, but obviously I am seeing this cut-back as a complication, feeling constrained by the spending ceiling. I knew intellectually neither he nor I measured how we felt about one another with money, but not having the usual pile of presents to exchange upset the emotional side. This new method was forcing me to consider my intention, not just the budget. It became apparent that "more is better" was the operative motto in this part of my life. Somewhere I had lost the flow of intention. It reminded me of a conversation I had with my best friend, with whom I'd grown up.
Sue Ann came from a family of eight kids, and money was always tight with her. Nevertheless, she was very close to each of her brothers and sisters. Even to this day, all eight of them gather every year at her mother's to celebrate the holidays. They exchange gifts among themselves as well as with spouses and kids. A couple years ago, Sue Ann and I managed to grab a quick holiday lunch together, just the two of us. She was telling me what she had received as gifts from different family members. I commented on how costly it must be to buy gifts for everyone, and Sue Ann revealed their secret.
This is the tricky part, so pay attention: Each sibling buys a gift or two, maybe three, as they are moved to do so. That's it. Sue Ann said sometimes a sibling may show up with no gifts to exchange while someone else may bring three or four. Each package has someone's name on it so it was purchased (or made!) with that person in mind. Pay attention again: No one ever got left out. There was always a gift for someone; nor did anyone get too many. No one in her family thought this was odd or out of the ordinary; this was the way they'd always done it and it had always worked. True to their own familial spirit, they had found a system to enjoy sharing gifts without spending a fortune. They went into their flow.
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