I’m cursed with the desire to give gifts to those I love.
There are few things that delight my heart like having a flash of inspiration about what a woman would love and then rushing off to excitedly make the purchase. When I get such an idea, I’m like an impatient child at Christmas. I can’t wait for this oh-so-perfect gift to arrive or to be delivered.
When I have the right kind of relationship with a woman who wants gifts from me, it’s a magical experience. I honestly don’t want anything in return. I just want to experience her joy at receiving something from me which she honestly appreciates.
It’s when I don’t have such a relationship — when there’s someone I would love to give to, but I can’t — when it becomes a curse. And it seems to be something which I can’t turn off.
Twice today, I’ve run across things which I think a particular someone would love. She will never know that, because she’s no longer in my life — by her choice — and so she will never receive what I’d like to send.
Maybe it seems as though I should be grateful. After all, I don’t have to spend the money which I would otherwise spend to buy something for someone else — for things which would do me no practical good. Maybe that’s the rational way for the brain to feel. But my heart feels cursed that it can’t have the joy of sending gifts.
Some of my most treasured memories from the past are of giving gifts which I knew delighted someone I loved at the time. Even when it’s people who are no longer in my life, the memory of having made them happy does something wonderful for my heart.
In my last serious love relationship, I had a number of ideas for things I desperately wanted to give to a woman, but I was going through a low period financially. I was having trouble simply surviving, so I couldn’t afford most of what I wanted to give to her. It feels terribly unfair that when I’ve finally reached the point when I could afford to give her some of those things — some of them, not all — the relationship is gone.
And I have no idea why I can’t let go of wanting to give her things.
There’s a selfish part of me which would love to find a way to secretly send gifts without letting her know who sent them, but that would be terribly unfair. It would be a violation of psychological boundaries. I won’t do it, but my heart wants to.
When I was young, I enjoyed getting gifts just as much as anybody. For months before Christmas, I wore out the pages of the Sears Christmas Wish Book, dreaming of what I wished someone would give to me.
But getting presents just because they’re things I’d like to have isn’t that enjoyable anymore. There aren’t that many things I want — and the relatively few I would like to have are very, very expensive. So the only presents that mean anything to me are the ones which show that a giver has spent the time and thought to come up with something that’s perfect for me, even if it’s not expensive.
The more mature I get, the more I mostly want to give.
I want to give delightful things to a wife — things which she would love, things which she would never have bought for herself, maybe things she thinks she doesn’t deserve. I want to give things to a little girl and a little boy — things which will make their eyes light up with joy and give them hours or days or years of enjoyment.
Having the inspiration for such gifts is magical. It makes my heart sing. Buying such gifts and then delivering them (or having them shipped) to the person I love is exciting. When it’s a gift which is truly thoughtful and right for someone — that feels like giving a piece of my heart.
It’s only a curse when you want to give and you can’t. And that’s where I am tonight.
I’m very eager for the day when I can once again give my heart and my mind through gifts to one I love.