A pandemic lesson: Presence is much more valuable than presents.
LONDON — Sitting under a gazebo in my parents’ back garden in the torrential rain was one of the best Christmases I’ve ever had.
It wasn’t what we planned. And it wasn’t Christmas Day. But it did bring on an epiphany about presence over presents — and has changed the way I’ll be approaching the holidays this year.
It was Dec. 18, the day before Prime Minister Boris Johnson announced a new lockdown in London and southeastern England, effectively canceling Christmas. We made it to my parents’ just in time.
I had been stockpiling presents since July. At the best of times my Christmas shopping typically finishes on Nov. 1. This time, I went a little over the top.
Every time “nonessential” stores opened last year, I went Christmas shopping. A jumper for my dad, perhaps; some inexpensive costume jewelry for my mum; an interesting book for my brother; delicious and unusual foodie treats from fancy department stores. Silly games. I went to Capri one weekend for work over the summer and spent all my euros on ceramic souvenirs: small dishes and tea towels decorated with lemons, bits and bobs. These would be unique and lovely gifts, I thought.
I pride myself on being a good gift-giver. I enjoy it, and soon I amassed a pile of them in a corner of the bedroom. I would rearrange them, take stock. It was comforting to look at them. If there were presents to open, then everything would be fine.
My partner and I went to visit my parents in Cheshire for an afternoon. Travel wasn’t highly recommended, but neither was it forbidden. They were in a Tier 2 area, where hospitality and entertainment were generally allowed, although socializing was to be outside only, distanced and in groups of no more than six.
At the station in London that morning it was unnervingly quiet. Uniformed officers — police, or maybe transport police — were clustered on the concourse and I found myself trying to avoid their notice. Were they going to ask me where I was going? In my head, I practiced saying something about my parents being older than they actually were so I was going to check on them, which was allowed.
When we finally got off the train in Cheshire, it felt like we had crossed into another dimension: Restaurants and pubs were still open.
We entered the back garden by the side gate, not going in the house at all. The gazebo, a pop-up metal frame with a polyester canopy, blinked with fairy lights to a backdrop of gray and cold dullness, the north west of England in winter. A little outdoor fireplace unit was burning and an assortment of garden furniture had been spaced out across the tarpaulin that my dad had laid on the grass. Little lakes would appear across it over the course of the afternoon.
It was time for the gift-giving. I had been careful not to scuff the paper on the way up or let it get wet. I wanted it all to be perfect. My Santa sacks bulged. Out came another gift, another and another. My parents were thrilled with everything, of course, and my dad told me I shouldn’t have.
But I wanted to. I wanted to indulge them to make up for not having been able to see them, trying to plug that hole of upset and distress with pretty and nice things, these little pleasures they could hopefully live off until the rules changed.
But after all that fuss, what stands out in my memory is the time we spent together.
My mum’s teary joy at seeing us — clearly the best thing that happened to her the whole year. The shivers from the cold (I was wearing four layers) that turned into guffaws because all the rain, which was just so typical, soaked the canopy and made it hang at funny, saggy angles. Who needs cracker jokes?
According to a survey by the data research platform Bazaarvoice, 15 percent of the 6,000 people in North America, Europe and Australia who were questioned plan to spend more on Christmas presents this year than last year; with 38 percent planning to start their shopping early.
My revelation is: I plan to do the reverse.
And as restrictions have eased, I know I’m not the only one who has re-evaluated how their time is spent and with whom.
During London’s lockdowns, I found myself constantly around strangers: the lady at the till when I bought my groceries, the staff where I bought my takeaway coffee, the estate agent at a property viewing. These people were in my life, while the people actually part of my life couldn’t be.
Brutal though it might sound, I’ve now streamlined my social circle; there is a hierarchy in place. And I’m considering my personal time to be a luxury gift, as is the people’s I want to see.
“Rhetorically,” said Jeffrey Galak, an associate professor of marketing at Carnegie Mellon University’s Tepper Business School in Pittsburgh who has written papers on gift-giving, the concept “sounds nice and practically it has — it feels like it has — a lot of merit.”
Speculating, he compared it to giving experiential gifts rather than material ones. Experiences are “something that builds a social connection between the giver and the receiver,” Mr. Galak said.
This Christmas I’m going to put it to the test.
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November 19, 2021 at 05:00PM
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