*My lil SF Tree with my 2020 smiling toilet paper roll*

I’m going to start by stating the obvious—gift giving and receiving is hard. It seems to get more difficult with age. You think you got your partner the perfect gift, something they’ve been talking about…only to find out they’ve already went ahead and bought it themselves. Gone are the days of macaroni and glitter cards you had so much fun decorating.

Some people refuse to take that risk again. So, gift card or money it is.

Not going to lie, I was really upset this week. I have an older friend couple, in their 60’s, who have been really supportive since moving to Spain. We meet weekly for coffee, trips to close-by towns, movie nights, and for the past few weeks, I’ve been visiting the local dog shelter with them while they’re going through the doggie adoption process.

I’ve been very thankful for them and they have been encouraging me to go out and make friends my age so we’ve been seeing each other less.

So for Christmas, two weeks before, I bought 100% cotton, thin, dark blue and black yarn for the mother(she likes wearing only all natural fibers). I crocheted a summer night out shawl the length of my wingspan (I’m 6’) because the summers here are long and she likes shawls. In my mind—a home run.

Even though I started two weeks ahead of Christmas, it wasn’t ready by the time they left for their Madrid Christmas. So I gave it to them a couple days after they returned home. Even then, I was working on it for 11 hours the day before, frogging (removing stitches) entire rows because I had made a mistake a few rows back. And she’s the type of person would notice. I could hear her voice in my head, “don’t do anything unless you do it right.” Something, I very much don’t believe in anymore—especially as a quality assurance engineer—how stifling. Another topic I can go on and on about… anyways, I made a hand-drawn card and wrote how much I appreciated them.

*The shawl… I need to get better at photographing my work*

So when we met for coffee and when I gave it to her… I was underwhelmed to say the least. At first, it was good. As she pulled it out of the cute gift bag, “oh my! You’ve been busy!” But then as she tried it on, she commented on how she liked what I was wearing better, “I really like this and the color. This is what I like.”

“Ooookaaay…” Well, fuck me.

I hadn’t really thought much to what I was wearing. It was just a hooded cowl and I wasn’t even happy with it. The cowl portion needed to be wider and it didn’t drape the way I wanted it to. I still haven’t figured out the design to fix it. It was also in acrylic yarn so the colors were brighter than what you would see in natural fibers. Most of the times you can’t get those colors because the dying process tends to be natural too—and more money. What’s more, I was pretty sure she had seen it before and hadn’t said anything.

It felt like she preferred this half-baked hooded thing to the thing I spent hours of effort into perfecting. Her response felt incredibly rude. What’s more, I was mad at myself—for that initial 30 second thought—“do I trade her the cowl right now?” No Rex! That’s not good boundaries! Stop fawning to make other people happy.

Maybe it was because she was in a hurry to get to her hair appointment? Maybe her knees where really hurting and she was worried she wouldn’t make it? Maybe, maybe, maybe?

As she left for her appointment, I kept bringing up my thoughts with her husband—summer, natural fibers… I think I made him uncomfortable as he tried to reassure me.

I like giving people the benefit of the doubt. There’s a lot of times I wasn’t as present as I would have liked to be—lack of sleep, difficulty hearing, the interrupting voices in my head.

But I couldn’t help thinking about my own mother. And this woman is very much a mother. I’ve seen her tell another 60-year-old man to look people in the eyes while talking to them and don’t cover your mouth. My own mother? I would save the majority of my money growing up for her birthday and Christmas presents. My dad putting his signature on my card and giving me a $50 the night before, only for her to return it the next week. Or the time she got me a leather cuff I really wanted as an early Christmas present and then told me to give it to my sister a couple weeks later. I hated Christmas.

I’m 34 and the disappointment feels the same.

Mentally, I know these are two different people. Emotionally, I’m back there again—trying to heal child wounds. Trying to get back to a place of magic—of sharing joy. Of appreciating and loving other’s thoughtful gestures and being appreciated and loved in return. Because the thing is, I still believe in it. I still believe in the twinkle and awe in the eyes and warm, knowing smiles.

Back home in SF, I rediscovered loving the holidays. I loved shopping for presents with and for my friends. I loved how analytically Joe would stare between choices of functionality vs color trying to put himself in the mind of Kati. I loved how Kati would zip around, find something, and tell you how she could just see Joe’s smile spreading across his face. I loved how Andrea was constantly collecting things she knew you’d like—a flow of random little presents spread out across the year. As the holidays started up, home-made cookies would appear outside your door. So much thought and love poured into these moments. The hours spent in hopes of yielding the biggest smile and hug. Being appreciated and loved for your thoughtfulness.

I used to feel awkward receiving and opening presents. I think, I still do a little bit. It’s helped so much being around and shopping with friends who imagine others happy. Now when I open I gift, I can imagine it—the effort and thought behind it. In these moments, I feel like it’s more important than seeing or receiving a gift. It’s practicing imagining others happy in a shared joyful moment. There’s real magic in intentionality. What a magical world this would be if we all practiced more.

Growing up, I felt like I could only rely on my dad to gift me a present I liked. Not Santa and not my mom—skirts, jewelry, makeup. Action figures, legos, books, and air-soft guns from dad. In those moments, dad saw me.

Mom, on the other hand, always shopped for her version of who she wanted me to be.

I think that’s why so many presents don’t land. And sometimes, we’re with people envisioning who they might be in a couple years rather than who they are. We ‘gift' them presents for their future self and not where they’re at. An imaginary future-self they might not even envision for themselves. Believing we’re crafting a tale—how appreciative they should be—for us, putting in the work, to make them their ‘potential’. Potential…what does that even mean?

Maybe this other mother really wanted a warm scarf for the holidays so she could be cozy in the freezing cold Spanish homes. (I’m bundled up as I’m writing this. These homes were designed with the sun in mind!) Whatever the case, it didn’t land.

It’s disappointing and maybe I might think before making her something again, but I don’t want to rob myself of the joy of thinking about others. The joy of creating for others. I don’t want to rob others of the joy of receiving because I’m too scared of disappointment to put effort in.

So I think there’s a few things I need to remind myself about gifts to keep the magic:

Some people don’t like opening gifts in front of others.
Don’t open a gift if you or the other person is in a rush. They can open it later.
Somethings just don’t land in the moment and that’s ok. Sometimes, like cozy socks, they gain appreciation throughout the year.
Thinking about others, taking the space and time to imagine what they would like, is more important than seeing them open or use it. It’s nice—but that’s not as important.

I wrote a poem months ago about being robbed of compassion when a person you care about comes to you with lies and omissions rather than honesty. How I felt robbed of the joys of compassion, kindness, and understanding and the heavy price they have paid…

I truly believe we do this to ourselves too—

When we stop trying.

Hung up—

Wronged memories—

A typhoon of pain.

It’s better to not try,

Than feel that way again.

We stop trusting others

To give us the kindness we seek.

We don’t reach for—

What we know—

A smile will bring.

Scared of future expectations,

Scared of going over board,

Scared of putting thought—

Effort—

So when this fails,

And it will,

As it so often does—

We don’t have to care too much.

And so,

We lose a little more magic—

Every day.

Not going to lie,

I just wish someone

Would give me—

A glittery macaroni card.

To smile at—

Every time I open the fridge.

When the Magic Misses: The Magic and Disappointment of Gifts

Feliz Ano 2026