Christmas has a way of teaching us about gifts — and then quietly reminding us that the best ones aren’t always wrapped.
We spend weeks searching for the right present. We listen more closely than usual. We notice offhand comments made in summer, small longings mentioned and then forgotten. A color someone keeps returning to. A tool they admire. A story they tell more than once.
In that searching, something subtle happens.
We aren’t just buying objects — we’re chasing dreams on someone else’s behalf.
A book becomes permission to imagine a different life. A set of tools becomes a vote of confidence. A handmade thing says, I saw you. I thought about you. I believed this belonged in your hands.
Children make this obvious, of course. They dream loudly and without apology. But adults dream too — more quietly, sometimes with a bit of embarrassment, as though wanting something deeply were a flaw we ought to have outgrown.
Christmas gives us a brief, socially acceptable excuse to honor those dreams anyway.
To say: I noticed what you care about.
To say: I believe you’re allowed to want this.
To say: I’m willing to help you chase it.
The loveliest presents, I think, are the ones that don’t end when the paper is cleared away. They linger. They invite. They whisper, Go on. Try. See where this leads.
So if you’re choosing gifts this season, look past what fits neatly in a box. Listen for the dream underneath the wish. Sometimes the most meaningful thing we give isn’t the present itself — it’s the feeling that someone else is holding our hope with us.
That, to me, feels very much like Christmas.
— Evelyn