X’ing out the Xmas gifts
There’s no cheer in getting crap you don’t want for Christmas.
Now that I’m at a point in my life where I don’t want anything, except time, this is more apparent than ever.
Yesterday in our house, we wrote our Christmas letters to “Santa.” (I dutifully make copies for further examination before mailing them to “Santa,” whose address stunningly matches my own.) On my Christmas letter, I wrote down four books. I want them. I want to read them. And then I want to walk past them, for decades I hope, as they gather dust on my bookcases, openly visible to guests who can then see that I’ve read them. But beyond that, I don’t want anything. Except more time to live, and enough time alone to write.
Today, as we were spending far too much on good Christmas gifts for the people we’ve created over the years, my wife said, “Is that all you want? Really? Just the four books? Nothing else?”
I said, “Tell me what else I need.”
She then tried making a list drawn from two categories: things I actually need but should buy myself (and, you guessed it, those things are socks and underwear), and things that we just bought for the house but that for some reason she thinks would otherwise have fallen onto my Christmas list, like a 13-piece furniture set for the living room. Because really, what man other than Liberace wouldn’t put that on his Christmas list? But, since we’d already bought that, she said with resignation, “I guess you really don’t need anything.”
It was about five years ago, I think, that we decided not to buy any more crap for ourselves or the other people who live with us, and to make it explicit to others who might give gifts, “Thanks, but we don’t want any crap.” Given the choice between receiving nothing, and receiving cute/fun/zany/useless gifts, we’d rather have nothing. And if it’s something we needed, we probably already bought it ourselves.
Lately, I’m on a mission to get rid of things. Things that are broken, things that no longer have any function (if they ever did), and all the clutter that accumulates like dead skin in the air of a busy, populated house. However, I do my best to check with my wife before just tossing something because otherwise, when at some point she realizes that something is missing, no matter how useless, bent, broken, shabby, pointless or dilapidated it might be, she turns into something from a Korean horror movie. (And if you’ve seen those, you know that the horror never forgets or stops pursuit.) Tonight I was looking for something in a cluttery drawer and pulled out a much-chewed faded orange sippy cup that my 18-year-old daughter attests was hers when she was 2. Before throwing it away, I asked, “Do you think your mother will miss this?” She said, “Probably.”
Last Christmas, my wife received a copy of “The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up” by Marie Kondo. She frowned when opening it, rightly suspecting that it was a gift from me, but she and I both wound up reading the book and quoting from it. Despite the obvious insanity of the author, who advises that you wish a personal farewell to each item that you get rid of, the book has made a real impact on us (as I mentioned here). If something doesn’t “spark joy in my life,” I thank it and wish it away into the trash or a donation pile. I have a recurring fantasy of jacking my house up to an extreme tilt, and having all the contents tumble into the bed of an enormous truck that would just cart it all away (my having first removed the books and comic books, naturally). Some day, I hope, my house will be so empty that I can make my own Ingmar Bergman films in it.
Given this desire to purge, and to not replenish by receiving, say, the Groot car charger, for Christmas, I was delighted to learn today that 100 years ago there was an actual movement that honored the same values at which I’ve arrived. Oh, how I wish to join The Society for the Prevention of Useless Giving.
December 20th, 2016 at 2:09 am
DAN’S CHRISTMAS WISDOM
(all rights reserved)
When I was a child, Christmas was the time I dreamed of getting everything I ever wanted, all the toys in the World, and a pony.
As I’ve grown older, the things I really want have become more personal, more expensive, and less likely to appear under a Christmas Tree. And I’m too big for a pony.
At the same time, I’ve been thinking more about other people; what small thing would bring a smile, what little service would they appreciate, what little gesture would let them know they are loved.
And as Christmas has become more about Giving and less about Getting, it has come to man much less to me. Without the selfishness and avarice, it just isn’t the same sacred holiday I loved as a child.