What Makes a Good Gift

And some open tabs in my brain

I have to buy a lot of gifts in October. My sister, my brother, and my dad all have birthdays and its because of this that I often end up stressing more about gift-buying this month than I do in December.

I have an aversion to buying “meaningless” gifts. Now, the definition of “meaningless” is subjective. What means something to someone, may cause emotional flatlining in another. Let me offer a few examples. Another golf polo for my dad, meaningless. A Zach Bryan vinyl for my brother, meaningless. A Lululemon shirt for my sister, meaningless. If you’re one of those annoying people who likes to play devil’s advocate, you might be thinking to yourself, well, Erin, I would love to receive any of those gifts. But that’s not the point. I know each of my family members would be grateful for any of the above items. It’s not a them-problem, it’s a me-problem.

I have a feeling that this disorder lives in the same space in my brain that says when going out to dinner, I cannot order the same thing as someone. Or the space that also doesn’t allow me to rub two pieces of cardboard together or rip the seal off a peanut butter jar. I could write more about these but this is not an essay about my neuroses, it’s an essay about what makes a good gift.

A good gift doesn’t have to be expensive, although sometimes it ends up being that way. A good gift is one that requires you to think beyond what even the gift recipient has even thought of. Sometimes it takes a million open tabs on Google Chrome and abandoned searches “23 year old brother who loves movies reddit” to get there, but it’s worth it.

Last year, a good friend got me a small painting of my dog’s face and I immediately felt tears well and a big ball in my chest that only arrives when you’re about to explode with emotion. The painting captures Frank’s trademark brown eyes that make me melt. It’s still one of my favorite things and every time I look at it I smile. That’s a good gift.

What they might call, a good gift

Another year my parents got me a record player. I’m not saying a good gift should always make someone cry, but if you’re me I think that’s a safe assumption. I looked the way most of us look on Christmas morning—a sleep mask on my head and a Mariah Carey t-shirt and red eyes from tears running down my face. Maybe my parents weren’t prepared for the flood of tears that came at the sight of a $149 record player and just thought it be a nice gift. But then again, they are my parents and have known me for quite some time, so maybe they were. That was a good gift.

Sometimes I am paralyzed and have to resign to buying something off the person’s list or worse, a gift card. Every time that happens, a piece of me dies inside. So, if the time comes and you open a gift from me and see that it’s a gift card to your favorite store, understand that I am not doing well and may need some time to recover.

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open tabs

I’m reading the new Sally Rooney novel, Intermezzo. I like it so far. She has a knack for writing the tiny nuances and idiosyncrasies that make up human relationships.

I cried again listening to Andrew Garfield read this Modern Love essay by Chris Huntington on the podcast.

“When the battery in my watch died, I still wore it. There was something about the watch that said: It doesn’t matter what time it is. Think in months. Years. Someone loves you. Where are you going? There are some things you will never do. It doesn’t matter. There is no rush. Be the best prisoner you can be.”

I’ve been obsessed with this song, most specifically Baby Rose’s feature. Same with Rosy by Wet. My friend Jenny said it sounds like “cake” and I couldn’t agree more. She made a whole playlist of songs that sound like cake, which features another recent obsession. The part where she sings His older brother bagged a valedictorian scratches a deep crevice in my brain.

Until recently, I’ve been suffering from extremely frizzy hair. Like, the only way I’ve been able to tame it is braids and claw clips. Until I bought this serum. You put it on dry hair before bed and you wake up and your hair is shinier, softer. It’s magic. I guess thats why they call it Magic Serum?

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Anyways, it’s time to sign off. I bought my brother’s gift already. But still have to get my dad and sister’s gifts. And as I stated above, it may take my whole Sunday.

I hope you enjoy yours.

Thank you for reading.

Erin