How to Give the Gift of Happiness

Handmade Gift, c. 1995

Before curling up in my parents' bed and listening for the reindeer hooves they insisted they could hear, I spent the Christmas Eves of my childhood locked in my room making and wrapping presents for them. My parents were my only means of making purchases, so no store-bought present could surprise them. From the year of the handmade ornaments to the year of the coupon book (breakfast in bed, anyone?), I never stopped dreaming of the day I could finally get my parents a "real present." I defined a real present as one I could buy, wrap, and put under the tree.

My gift-insecurity was by no means driven by my parents; they were happy with any (or no) present. But as I would sit there clutching my new Tamagotchi or staring at that Razor scooter, I couldn't rid myself of my disappointment. I wanted to badly to reciprocate their gesture with some thing that my parents might have really wanted.

This year, though I had the physical and financial means to surprise my parents with a "real present," Christmas Eve was no different from those of my childhood. Locked in my bedroom staring at my childhood boxes of markers and crayons, I brooded over what to wrap and place under the tree for my parents. Witnessing the scene from a distance, kid-me would have surely been disillusioned by adult-me.

The irony is that I did buy a surprise gift for my parents. I just didn't buy them anything I could physically wrap and put under a tree. Unlike last year's teapot, this year's present was an experiential one: A pasta-making class in January. With nothing but an email confirmation, I was going to be a delinquent physical-gift-giver.

Psychologically speaking, my intangible present stood to be more appreciated than any tangible one might have. Years of research have shown that experiences make people happier than physical objects.

Recent explorations attribute the finding to our minds' natural tendencies to wander, to the future in anticipation, or to the past in nostalgia. Experiences give our minds something wonderful to look forward to or something sweet to look back on. Unlike a physical object, the benefit of an experience begins to build up before we even have the experience, then lingers once it's gone. This is very unlike waiting for, then obtaining, a physical object. For example, waiting for Amazon to deliver a teapot can be painful. We want our items immediately. Experiences are special in their impermanence. We treasure them because we know they are temporary. And even when an experience doesn't measure up to our expectations, we look back in rosy retrospection, reminded of how we made the most of a situation.

From a gift-giving perspective, experiences are probably safer gifts than physical objects. There's no risk of giving a gift they already have, that doesn't fit, or that they hate. It's unlikely the gift will be replaced or forgotten. The warm and fuzzy lasts longer for both parties, at least until the experience is enjoyed, and much longer if the experience is truly enjoyable. Whether or not you participate in the experience, you are part of the story. This is less likely in the case of physical present like say, a teapot that transitions quickly from instagram-worthy to a mundane utility.

Knowing all this while sitting in my Christmas Eve war zone, I couldn't help but wonder why I felt so remiss. Perhaps because Christmas gifts are experiences in themselves -- mysterious packages waiting for days under a tree, building one's anticipation, and providing no clues but the ones that come with shape and shakes. In some ways, my experiential gift would usurp the Christmas gift experience. But in many other ways, it transcends the conventional Christmas gift experience.

Handmade Gift, c. 2014

I ended up placing a handmade "gift certificate" in a jar then filling the rest of the space with uncooked pasta. Christmas day, my parents guessed aloud as they dug through the jar. The note at the bottom solved the "What is it?" mystery, then transformed into a new gift of anticipation -- one that will only resolve in January. They'll learn to make pasta from scratch and knowing my mom, they will continue to prepare and enjoy pasta from scratch for years to come. My parents have already told me multiple times how much they're looking forward to the class. The thought of their future experience makes them (and me) happy. Coincidentally, thought is also the most important part of gift-giving.

Though experiences do tend to make us happier than physical objects, gifts might be in a special class of their own. After all, the act of purchasing, receiving, and opening a present is a shared experience in itself. It doesn't matter what you get them or what you got; it's the thought that counts. I only wish kid-me realized this way back when. She would have been happy to know that hers were the best gifts anyone could give.