i'm opening the gift of experience.
i didn't exactly ask for it, but it's even better than the Doodle Bear I got when I was eight.
In the corner of my mind, there’s a shelf.
On it sits presents that I have received over the years, organized in chronological order. Not every present is there—only the ones that, for whatever reason, have stuck with me.
To the left is a Doodle Bear that I begged and begged for one year, its hot pink color an aggressive testament to the late ‘90s. The stuffed bear showed up under the tree that Christmas, courtesy of my adopted grandmother, who had listened to me squeal every time a commercial advertising it came on. I spent all of three weeks drawing all over its squishy body with a washable marker before abandoning it.
Next to it is a yellow tube of roll-on body glitter from Bath and Body Works that smelled like artificial pineapples—a gift for my 11th birthday. Middle school me was dying to fit in with the girls who wore butterfly clips and blue mascara. I was convinced that, with one swipe across each of my cheekbones, I would be one step closer to being someone worth noticing.
A little further down is a first-generation iPod with my name etched on the back that my mother surprised me with when I was a junior in high school. I spent the rest of Christmas day excitedly uploading as much of my music library as I could, which was mostly comprised of bootleg songs sourced from Xanga.
If I visit that shelf in my mind and look at it for a long time, one thing becomes clear: I have no idea where any of these things are now. And I don’t remember them because of how cool they were or how much of an impact they had on my life. It was never about the physical present itself.
It was about the experience of opening them.
I am not fond of forced gift-giving.
In fact, I downright hate holidays that expect me to source a thing to give to someone. It feels inauthentic at best and a performative shuffling around of money at worst. I don’t do well under pressure, preferring to stumble across the perfect present in a thrift shop or on a random trip to the store without a deadline breathing down my back.
And don’t get me started on gift wrapping. I’m terrible at it—my presents are the sort that you have to place just right under the tree to avoid calling even more attention to the mismatched edges, copious use of Scotch tape, and uneven corners.
Because of this, at some point in my adult life, when the holidays rolled around, I switched to gifting experiences.
Over the past decade or so that I’ve been doing this, I’ve gifted cooking classes, food tours, tickets to museums, and pottery-making classes. I’ve taken my partner out for a nice meal and purchased acupuncture treatments for my sister.
Sure, opening a card with a print-out inside or clicking on an email that gleefully announces that a gift certificate is inside isn’t quite as fun as tearing into a beautifully-wrapped air fryer, but I’d argue that my way of doing things gets closer to those intangible feelings that make a gift truly memorable.
After all, like my Doodle Bear and my pineapple glitter and my iPod, most gifts end up in the trash, donated or broken by the time the holidays roll around again. The cycle repeats. The shelves are filled—temporarily—but only a small percentage of what is given truly stays in our memories.
But an experience? It’s so much bigger than a gift that can be easily placed on the mental shelf in my mind—a shelf that grows fainter and emptier with each passing year.
Instead, experiences are like the spiny, zig-zag cactus plants that I see when I take my evening walks on the island: they never stop growing.
In my life, I’ve been handed the gift of experience many, many times.
But I haven’t always wanted to accept it.
Throughout my life, I’ve made a list of the things I want: a house, a cool job, a partner who loves me, a steadily-growing business, a supportive group of friends. I’ve sent that list to the universe—I’ve set intentions, I’ve meditated, and I’ve been clear about what I want. I expect the universe to take a look at my list, nod its head, and to go shopping for exactly what I asked for. And I expect there to be no surprises when I unwrap my gifts.
But instead, what usually happens is an exchange that is less Secret Santa and more white elephant. The universe hands me something that feels like a joke: the whoopee cushion or ugly Christmas sweater of experiences falls in my lap, and I find myself scratching my head and wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do with…this.
When I decided to move to St. Croix, I expected the universe to gift me with an experience that was easy, magical and aligned. Before I moved, I visualized exactly what I wanted. I expected a montage of beach walks, instant connections and scenes from a fulfilling job to begin playing the moment I set foot on the island.
But instead, the universe has handed me one interesting experience after the other: from screaming at a giant cockroach that was chilling in the corner of my new apartment to paying to get my car licensed twice because the temporary tag given to me fell off after one day, at times, the Crucian gift of experience has felt like…anything but. It’s been more like lifting the lid on a box and discovering a rum cake when you’ve lived your entire life believing that rum cake is gross1.
It’s tempting to look at these experiences and to simply dismiss them as bad luck. And while I agree that it’s best not to dwell on what doesn’t quite go to plan, I have to wonder: what would it mean to truly see these uncomfortable, not-on-my-list moments as…gifts? How would it feel to take the white elephant present and to believe that it will eventually become clear why it was handed to me?
When I begin to think of experiences in this way, everything changes.
The huge pay cut I took when accepting a new job suddenly becomes the gift of work-life balance: I no longer feel bad when closing my computer at the end of the day.
The limited selection and exorbitant shipping costs on the island transforms into the gift of mindfulness: I am more thoughtful about what I buy and consider what I truly need.
The delay in getting my own yoga class to teach on the island is the gift of patience: I have the time to consider what I truly want to offer to those I hold community with through yoga.
Though these gifts aren’t always the easiest to unwrap—they sort of remind me of the time that my brother thought it would be “really funny” to wrap all of my Christmas presents in duct tape—the end result is so much more satisfying.
This year, I’m asking for experiences for Christmas.
I’m asking for a hike through the rainforest with a backpack filled with a picnic lunch and a bottle of wine. I’m asking for an afternoon spent trying to stand up on my inflatable paddleboard for more than three minutes. I’m asking for an early morning out east at Point Udall, watching the sun rise.
I’m asking for more moments that challenge me. Moments that reshape me. Moments that help me grow and think bigger than a life spent collecting things that sit on shelves.
And I have a pretty good feeling that, thanks to the universe’s generosity, I’m going to get everything on my list this year.
When have you received the gift of experience in your life…even when it wasn’t exactly on your wish list? I’d love to hear about moments that have challenged and shaped you.
Cards for Humanity: The Page of Cups
I can’t remember who pointed it out to me, but it always makes me laugh that the young man depicted in the Page of Cups is wearing a hat that looks suspiciously like the live fish peering out of his cup. To me, there’s an implied message about giving the semblance of doing something in lieu of actually doing it: it’s the difference between wearing a leather skirt and lassoing a cow. One is a lot more challenging than the other.
The youthful Page of Cups is confronted with a moment that catches him off guard. Up until this point, the only connection he’s had with the water behind him is the sort that is contained in his very small cup and the fashion statement he wears on his head. The true wildness of the element of water is unknown to him—he’s never experienced what it feels like to step into the ocean and submerge himself in it.
The fish that appears in his cup is a sign—it’s an invitation to jump out of the cup and into the wild water, and it’s also the harbinger of experience, the sort that is wholly unexpected and not exactly pleasant. I mean, I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t be exactly thrilled if a slimy fish appeared while I’m trying to hydrate myself.
The universe works like this sometimes—it throws a wrench in our plans or, in this case, a fish in our cups. It forces us to pay attention to an area of our life where we need to grow and leave the comfort zone of the small space we’re used to. Truthfully, the page is in a predicament when we meet him: he has to decide what the heck to do with this unexpected, unsolicited gift. Should he ignore it and look the other way, risking the fish jumping out of the cup and flopping noisily all over the place? Or should he walk to the water’s edge, release it…and perhaps follow it into the depths?
When the Page of Cups appears in a tarot reading, it’s time to consider what unexpected gifts you’re receiving and how you might unwrap them with curiosity, not suspicion. Especially when dealing with times that test your emotions, the Page reminds us that we don’t have to necessarily understand the meaning behind every off-the-wall moment in life…but sometimes, it’s worth taking a closer look at the bizarre. It might just help you grow in a new, beautiful direction.
The Page of Cups is:
a white elephant gift that unexpectedly becomes your new favorite thing
winning a free glass-blowing class in the work holiday raffle
the friendly mice that help Cinderella get ready for the ball
a sense of deja vu while visiting a new place
a vivid dream you have while taking a nap in the middle of the day
The gift of experience
Speaking of giving experiences as gifts, here are a few that I think are absolutely worth adding to your list:
An acupuncture session with my friend Dr. Melanie Chieng at the Golden Door
A channeled guidance session with intuitive Chelsea Jewel (I can vouch for this one—she’s read my chart!)
A queer yoga class with my friend Cassidy at Finding Normal
A windows + mirrors live year-ahead tarot reading with yours truly :)
Wishing you a wonderful last few weeks before the holidays + all the experiences you need to make this a season worth remembering.
Let the record show that Crucian rum cakes are delicious and a much better alternative to fruitcakes.
