GIFTS (YOU CAN’T GIVE) GUIDE
this year
a mass of gift guides hit my inbox,
maybe you saw them too
the archetype recipients
the pre-set presents
they’re not really my thing,
but it got me to thinking—
about this year of intangibles
of fleeting wonders
the procession so precious
most I can’t hold
but still want
to offer to you
1. COLLECTING YOUR EGGSHELLS
Every morning I eat an egg for breakfast. I heat the pan, crack the shell on the side, let the clear albumen slide onto the hot ceramic. As the liquid starts to firm into that classic white, I drop the yolk atop the glossy nest. Growing up, eggs were consumed on special occasions, like a mushroom scramble on Christmas morning….and maybe other times I’m failing to recall. Now my morning feels incomplete without an egg. When Boyfriend left for a three month job back in September, I was unsure of how to count the passing time. The first morning alone, I placed breakfast’s empty egg shell on my counter. A comfort, to see evidence of my existence. The next morning, I added a second eggshell, on and on, until half-circles sprawled across the counter. I pulled out some glass jars—my official collection was born. Even the mornings that echoed most fervently with aloneness, I had to get up. I had my egg shells to check on. By the time Boyfriend returned, I had six jars stacked on our kitchen counter. Full of brown, blue, cream. Some orbs had split so perfectly, I could nestle one half into the other. I still have my egg shell assemblage, patiently waiting for its next life.
2. LISTENING TO A BIRD SQUEAKING IN A BUSH
Nature, ever heard of her? I was walking by a no-nonsense rectangle shrub and heard the strangest noise. A raspy peep, a throaty eeek. Some hidden bird squawking away. For who? Maybe just affirming its existence. We’ve all been there. Last night I saw a healthy fluffy coated coyote trotting down the middle of my street—my first coyote sighting in all two years of this Atwater residency. And a few houses down is a giant tree, one of the tallest in the neighborhood. It has a chic asymmetrical look, a large branch on the right side was cut off years ago. Who knows what caused the branch removal, but it transformed the tree into a perfect house for a large bird. Now a crane lives there. Some times at dusk, I see giant wings pulsing slow motion into the tree’s open arms.
3. RE-READING AN ELEMENTARY LEVEL BOOK
Honestly I’m specifically talking about Holes by Louis Sachar. I must’ve read this book in 4th grade. The movie came out in 2003 and I was very concerned whether or not the adaptation could live up to the book. Holes doesn’t cross my mind very often, but I saw a copy in a nearby free library and I knew it was coming home with me. Sorry neighborhood kids. I read it over the course of a couple days before bed and wow it’s a page turner. The desert atmosphere rings through. I could feel the parts of my 9 year old brain firing again, activated by Sachar’s specific visual descriptions. Is this a secret hack for reverse aging? Just reading old books? Maybe I’ll try The Cat in the Hat next. Get ready baby James.
4. THE GROUND
You know what you can’t buy? The sidewalk. Okay, well you sort of can if you own the property but really sidewalks are the people’s princess. I’ve been off Instagram for basically all of Autumn—this was an unplanned break for work purposes that continued to stretch on and on and now I’m like how do I open this photo sharing app these kids are talking about???—anyway in the absence of posting dopamine, I found a lot of stuff on the ground. It’s not new, the ground, but it was really there for me and I have to shout it out. My little assortment of surprises:
5. NO SHARP PHONE PIC OF THE MOON
Sure, there’s probably a special technique to capture the smiling face on that opalescent space rock. But when I point my little iPhone at the moon, it scrambles the sensor, causing it to dance between points of automatic focus. We are MERE MORTALS, the moon is out THERE. It’s an orb that CHANGES HOW IT LOOKS EVERYSINGLEDAY. How crazy is that? Also moonlight? The moon isn’t generating that blueish glow, it’s scooping the sun from below the horizon. A ball of rock, beaming, bouncing light we cannot see. Effortless and generous.
6. TRYING TO DO MATH IN YOUR HEAD
Instead of looking at my phone while I was waiting in a store, I decided to try and figure out a math problem. If I worked 40 hours a week, how many years it would take to do something for 10,000 hours? Holding numbers in my head is nearly impossible—I see them as floating shapes that morph whenever, so it was quite entertaining to attempt this puzzle. Then it was maddening. Still, I’d recommend trying to do math in your head, just to feel heat in your brain and remember we’re alive.
7. DOING WITHOUT FULLY KNOWING
Start that thing you think about. Better yet, finish that thing you started. Don’t worry about telling people where you’re at in the process. Let it be hard, let it be light, let it be long. Just continue, dive a few meters more. Build a steady relationship with that thing, realize it’s a version of coming home to yourself. The whole plan does not need to be known, you just have to do it. Each morning renew the trust, allow the divine to be the unfolding.
8. PERSONAL ECLIPSES
Winter is the perfect time to try this out. Find some form of silence. Cease one form of output, then another. Give extra room in your thoughts. In the vastness, what shows itself to you?
lov thissssss, thanks 4 sharing yourself and thoughts :)
You just get it and I love you