This might simply be the British part of me talking, but this post will be insufferable for two reasons: it will sound like I’m virtue signaling and it’ll look like unsolicited advice. It’s probably both; intended to be neither.
As I trimmed the stems of the flowers that I get delivered for my wife every month (how virtuous), I realized how much of a gift it is to do small things for others (if you want to). It’s small; it’s a really small thing—I accidentally subscribed to flowers and never stopped—but it’s a small act of service that I now cherish. It’s a gift, really, to both of us.
Before the subscription I’d bought my wife flowers, of course. When I did, though, I remember her doing the work to give them a place in our home. I thought that the gift was the flowers, but I’ve come to realize that the gift is the work. Buying groceries does not produce a great evening with friends, but cooking something with love might (etc.)
The might seem obvious to everyone else in the universe (?) but it took a little while to dawn on me. Besides the gift of noticing my own act of service, it reminded me of the many (many) acts of service that others do for me. The countless acts of service my wife has always done for me, and that she does for countless others (yes, she’s pretty great).
To make myself really cringe-worthy: the best present, it turns out, can simply be presence. A gift can be attention paid. Time spent—even just a little. I feel lucky that I get to spend those few minutes each month, and—fortunately—my wife appears to like the flowers.