The Gift That Keeps on Giving

I don’t tend to enjoy the genre of ‘self-help’ or ‘self-improvement’. Each time I get easily-influenced by the person opposite me on the train immersed in a book whose cover boasts ‘a life-changing read’, I find that after giving it a go, that life was really quite the same, and that I did not come out the other end a more grounded, enlightened, or different person, but that what I read was fluffed-up rhetoric on trending topics I often overthink on a regular basis. In short, I feel let down by their prospect of originality. 

Perhaps I’m not looking in the right spots, but many conversations with friends tell me I’m not alone here. Between being too generic, or too stringent, self-improvement books, for me at least, lack depth and too often enjoy the genre’s luxury of breadth. I enjoy a running theme, a conceptual undercurrent; and as much as I know how the ‘depth’ of a concept can reach its peak in the great theoretical works I have studied, I seem to be craving something that devices of fiction and often critical theory provide: a seed. Not a grand proposition of ‘this is how we fix the world’ or ‘this is how to change our brains’, which then must always be underwhelming, but a more modest way to pull the reader in, to let them peep through a different window, and gain a touch of new perspective or insight. 

When I read Seth Godin’s Linchpin and Devamrita Swami’s Hiding in Unnatural Happiness consecutively this winter, both labelled under ‘self-help’, I admittedly did not expect to enjoy them as much as I did, and I did not expect them to overlap on the theme I found most interesting, or indeed, to correlate at all. I also did not expect to think about it as much as I do. The former was gifted as part of a prize I received when leaving school (it's been on a dusty shelf since), and the latter found at an Oxfam Bookshop on a rainy day. 

To only summarise, Linchpin embodies a slightly more conventional ‘self-improvement’ text. Godin forcefully denounces the robotic, drone-like behaviour that humans can habitually exhibit in our modern socio-economic condition, and encourages us to question whether we believe we are ‘indispensable’ in our career, in our community, and generally in life, reinforcing ways in which we can become so. He advocates for the importance of being invaluable not only by production, but by intention; that conscious application of our energy will drive us to lead more fulfilling lives with a greater sense of belonging. Swami’s message, however, derives more from a spiritual teaching in Hiding in Unnatural Happiness - whilst Godin challenges our ‘factory mindset’, Swami’s critique of modern consumer culture is that it tricks us to exhibit only artificial happiness; we can only know true transcendental and ‘sustainable’ happiness when we enter a higher realm of spiritual and profound self-understanding. Swami uses Bhakti Yoga and Vedic philosophy to guide his thinking, exploring ideas of nature, the self, and interconnectivity. 

Both probe such broad-ranging topics that I have only very much scratched the surface. But I didn’t want to write a lengthy comparison of the two. I wanted to emphasise an unexpected common emphasis that I extracted from both that has changed my own perspective, or for lack of a better term, has sprung a core belief of mine to the forefront of my mind, where I would like it to stay: it is the importance of gifting. 

I’m sure this evokes images of wrapping presents for birthdays or Christmas, but this isn't really what I’m referring to. Yes, generosity plays a part, but gifting as a nature does not solely refer to material goods. Godwin dedicates a whole chapter to the powerful culture of gifts: he highlights how understanding our cultural and anthropological roots as gift-giving humans brings to light why it is non-transactional values that deem you vital in a community and a marketplace. He speaks of Native American tribe leaders who developed relationships and established power by giving everything away, but that in the last few centuries, the ‘how much can you accumulate’ race determines winning. But, does it? 

“In the linchpin economy, the winners are the artists who give gifts. Giving a gift makes you indispensable [...] Inventing a gift, creating art -”

Intellectual and manual labour have become equated with monetary and contractual value in our workplace. ‘If you can do x within x hours x times a week, you get x amount’. But emotional labour is slightly different. While people also make more money by utilising emotional labour, it is valued beyond just this. It is about bringing unique gifts to the table, instead of just riding a wave set out for you. It isn’t necessarily part of the contract. A contract, as Godin says, isolates individuals - money becomes the connector. The gift however binds people: the giver and the recipient(s), and both to the community. Ambitious creative solutions that genuinely intend to help people towards a common goal are gifts. In its natural form, creative output attracts attention and community beyond a contractual basis.

Capitalism teaches us that goods and services are exchanged based on supply and demand, with prices set by market forces; trade and generating profit are essential. But this thinking seems to have infected cities. Yes of course commercial imperatives are necessary for innovation and growth, but when they run amok on a mass scale, they make the prospect of gifting something of a mission or challenge for the individual, as Swami puts it: 

 “Our economic structures have made the natural pleasures of giving difficult to perform [...] our overriding emphasis is on acquisition”. 

I even think it’s interesting to consider how this has permeated our idea of what ‘wellness’ is, and our recent obsession with it. There has been a huge commodification of wellness in recent years whereby practices exclude a large portion of society who cannot spend their income on expensive pilates classes, weekly therapy or overpriced self-care items. As well as this, many ‘self-care’ rituals that we see circulating on social media that supposedly keep us ‘well’ encourage unnecessary hyper-consumerism and often isolation. I found researcher Karli Elizabeth on social media (@thewellbeingscientist_) and she summarised it perfectly: 

“Wellness is greater than our individual habits - it is found in community and collective care”

She raises some really prevalent issues about how we can change our idea of wellness and I would encourage anyone interested to explore more. But she’s right - I know that my book club and choir rehearsals, both communities which are not based on contracts or commodification, do wonders for my wellbeing that supposed ‘self-care’ gadgets and a Netflix subscription cannot. In these little communities we find and contribute to, we gift not only to ourselves but to each other at the same time. 

Devamrita Swami believes that one thing can lead us in the right direction: 

“Transforming an economy of taking into an economy of giving necessitates tapping into higher awareness and energies. Only the development of spiritual knowledge and values will empower people and society to make the crucial saner choices.”

Can this kind of spirituality be casual in the world we live in, where we MUST keep going, ‘ACCUMULATE and BUY ASSETS’?  I think it can. I cannot say that spirituality is a central organising principle in my life, but I can say that I see it as a malleable tool to aid connection: when used, I notice that there is richness in the everyday, and gravity in the little things. 

Belonging somewhere increasingly dependent on money culture, I think there is a yearning for humanity in the everyday more than ever. We will understand the value that gifts can bring, of initiatives that are not based on the purpose of transaction, but on contribution, passion and betterment. Whether that be creating art, sharing a bite of knowledge, developing an app, making dinner for friends, being kind. Time is an indispensible gift!

It makes me recall an evening when Connor and I were struggling to find a way to get back to the city from a very isolated beach in Northern Morocco last year. Our options were slimming when a young local guy and his friend pulled up beside us and asked us if we were heading towards the old town and that he could drop us on his way. He told us about his hometown and why he loved it, his antiques company that he had dotted around Morocco, and the international friend’s he’s made. When we offered to give him some money for the lift/petrol, he looked dispirited: “I offered because I wanted to”. Innocently and well-meaningly, we attempted to equate his kindness and friendliness with money, a transaction, as a sign of our gratitude. But this was not the currency he was interested in. This man was happy to gift us his kindness, help, and his stories. It was priceless.  

Anything can be a gift if you see it that way. It may require a bit more effort in this economy to have that perspective and prioritise it, but I know it’s something I will definitely try to nurture more. 

"Here's a gift, I love you"