Among other things, I am bad at giving presents. Truly the worst. Like most things, it sends me into an existential panic greatly disproportionate to the task at hand. As soon as it is time to give someone a present (Christmas, birthdays, life events) it is like I can no longer even imagine any products in the world or any facts about the person in question. Suddenly, even though I’ve known Katie my whole life, I’m all like, “Well, Katie…has arms. Maybe she’d like some….arm stuff?”
Luckily for me, books exist. In the interest of not freaking the fuck out any time I need to give someone something, I started giving people books. While it is a little presumptuous to be like, “here’s a thing I like, LIKE IT TOO,” as long as the person in question likes reading, there are definitely way worse things you could get them (before I discovered the book idea, I probably gave people those things.)
Right now, my go-to gift book is Tiny Beautiful Things by Cheryl Strayed. In fact, I don’t even have my own copy because every time I buy one, I just end up giving it away.
If you haven’t read it, you should go buy it right now. And you should also buy a box of kleenex. And maybe a carton of ice cream or a box of donuts or something. Be prepared for all of the feels.
“The best thing you can possibly do with your life is to tackle the motherfucking shit out of it.”
― Cheryl Strayed, Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Love and Life from Dear Sugar