Finding a balance between giving and taking is one of the big challenges in my life. According to my loved one, I give more than necessary, figuratively speaking, but sometimes I can be quite stingy in a literal sense. I have to admit that I’m not very generous when it comes to things that I believe have no meaning or purpose.
Unlike my loved one, I don’t like objects that are just beautiful, that only provide meaning from an aesthetic point of view. In my living space, I only keep what is absolutely necessary, preferably even less. I don’t want to end up like my neighbors who have filled their apartment with curiosities and barely have any floor space left to move around. Even though I live in a two-room apartment, most of my living space is open floor and empty walls. I believe that atmosphere is mainly created by light and in my mind.
When it comes to choosing gifts, especially for people I care about, during holidays when I’m expected to give them something, it can be quite challenging for me. Just understanding the meaning of giving gifts and sensing expectations is difficult for me. On top of that, there’s the practical aspect of buying and wrapping, the fear of rejection and judgment, and the literal act of letting go of what I’ve purchased.
Giving gifts to my loved one is an exception. She is kind enough to make a list of exactly what she wants, where it should be bought, and when she would prefer to receive that gift. Since I’ve known her, I’ve realized that a surprise gift, a package under the Christmas tree that she doesn’t know the contents of, doesn’t really make her happy. I notice that from the moment that package is under the tree, she clearly struggles, her mood suffers, and I eventually reveal what’s inside to return everything to normal. I don’t particularly enjoy such surprises either, but I focus on other things enough that I don’t suffer from it. I also provide my loved one with a list of what I would like, or she asks well in advance, a month or two beforehand. This eliminates the negative tension but leaves the positive excitement because, believe it or not, we enjoy a gift more when we know it will be something nice.
But what do you give to people who, in my opinion, already have everything and whom I don’t see daily or weekly? They may be missing essential things like love, trust, openness to ideas they don’t yet know, and experiences they haven’t had, but you can’t easily find those in some store. Unless I give them a voucher for some initiative, a workshop on understanding autism, a self-improvement workshop, or connecting with their inner selves, but I doubt they will ever use it.
I would actually prefer to give something that comes from me, from my heart, rather than something material, but I fear that such gestures are often not appreciated. I could of course hide behind the trend of decluttering, criticize the neoliberal attitude of celebrating, and so on, but I don’t. Nor do I point out to my surroundings that they have a completely wrong interpretation of the holidays they celebrate, that Christmas actually falls in March, and that New Year’s is just an agreed-upon moment.
Most of the time, I give something small but special, an item from some gift shop that makes personalized trinkets. If I provide a brief profile of the family member I’m buying for, a salesperson in such a store usually knows which section or department I should visit, or even suggests ideas.
Every year, they ask me for a list of what I would like to receive. Of course, I could put things like an iPhone 15, a world cruise, a voucher for new glasses with state-of-the-art lenses, a workshop at Aambeeld, or a plane ticket for two to Seattle, but then I might come across as too greedy.
No, I prefer to provide a list with things like comfortable clothing (soft, seamless, as much cotton as possible, no synthetics), a set of pencils and/or pens and beautiful paper, high-quality noise-canceling headphones, a voucher for custom-made earplugs for better sleep, a subscription to a music streaming service, an e-reader, a subscription to a museum or cinema of my choice, a magazine subscription, a personalized calendar, artwork from an autistic artist, or a beautiful quote in calligraphic letters and framed.
As an alternative, I opt for a voucher at Fnac or the Standaard Boekhandel. I’m quite content with that. Even though some people just give me an envelope with cash. Although it’s less romantic, I’m still happy with it. It’s the intention behind it that matters. Just as they are also satisfied when I make an effort to express gratitude. Sometimes I’m genuinely grateful, but mainly because I can go home with the gifts, celebrate a bit longer with my loved one, and then go to bed.
The European Autist 