Do books make good gifts?

 

I love books. I love presents. But I have mixed feelings about both giving and receiving books as gifts. 

People should have books. As a librarian, English teacher, author, and reader, I want people to have access to as many books as possible. Experts now say that we should spend our money on experiences, not things, in order to achieve happiness. In a very real sense, giving or getting a book is giving or getting an “experience.” Sometimes, as with coffee table books, the object of the book is the point, but most of the time the story, the ideas, or the information that the object itself contains that are the reason we shell out the bucks for a book. For many people, books become keepsakes, items of sentimental value. I still have a copy of the literature textbook I used during my first year teaching. Books can be selected easily if one knows and understands the tastes or interests of the recipient. Books can be shared among family members, through “little libraries,” or donated to the public library or various charities that redistribute them to schools in developing nations.

So what could possibly be wrong giving someone a book for Christmas?

Perhaps I am the only one who feels this way, but a gifted book is always accompanied by a sense of obligation to read it. And I really, really don’t much care to be told what to read. (Yes, that’s ironic for an English teacher to feel this way.) I do however want the person who gives me a book to feel good about making a good choice.  So most gift books I go right ahead and read out of guilt.

Perhaps a gift card to a local bookstore with an explicit statement that it is to be used to buy a book just might be a better choice for that friend or relative one wishes to gift. Not only can they choose the titles they wish, but the format as well - hardback, paperback, or ebook. Or do what I do and give a donation in a person's name to a Friends of Library group .

Should I give physical books in the future, I will add this inscription: You won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t read this book. 

Oh, the photo above* is of Grandson Paul receiving a box set of Harry Potter books for ninth birthday on 2010. I knew he was reading the series and he was excited about the gift. It was not just the full seven book series in hardback, they came in a cool treasure chest-like box as well. It was only years later that Paul told me that he never finished reading the whole series. I am glad he didn’t and I am glad he told me. I would not have wanted him to feel the same sense of obligation I do when being so gifted.

I sincerely hope I didn’t hurt too many people’s feelings with this post. I am grateful for every gift I receive. 

*Damn, it took me longer to find the photo than it did to write this post!

OCB: Obsessive Compulsive Benefits

OCD: short for obsessive-compulsive disorder. INFORMAL: having a tendency towards excessive orderliness, perfectionism, and great attention to detail. (Oxford Languages)

OCB: short for obsessive-compulsive benefits. INFORMAL: using orderliness, perfection and attention to detail to improve one’s life. (Blue Skunk blog)

It’s good to keep track of your fitness efforts. But can one go too far? Become obsessive?

For about 30 years, I’ve been going to the local Y and doing weights three times a week. The picture above shows the machines I do and number of reps. Nothing that, so far, has given me a Schwartzenger-like physique. I started doing weights to complement the four mile walks I do on alternate days after reading an article in some health magazine that after age 40 men supposedly lose about 5% of their muscle mass each year. I found that frightening so I joined the Y, got a quick intro to the weight machines, and became compulsive about not just doing the reps, but recording the workouts.

After so many years of doing more or less the same exercises, I don’t really need a written reminder of the machines, the weights or the number of reps I do. But I keep one anyway. See below:

An 8.5x11 self-printed sheet like the one above will last me about 30 weeks. I keep it tucked into the file space provided for Y members to keep such records (along with a couple hidden ball-point pens) and happily carry it with me from machine to machine recording my ”progress.”

This activity makes me wonder if I am not somewhere on the OCD spectrum - obsessively recording data that really doesn’t need to be written down. I just toss these sheets once filled, after all. In saying this, I do not wish to trivialize how impactful OCD can be for many people - it can be serious and debilitating. I’ve known a couple hoarders personally and their compulsions have been detrimental to their happiness, if not their ability to function. 

But might a little OCD actually be OCB - with the B standing for beneficial? Somehow filling out the sheet above when I exercise is motivational. Subliminally, I wonder if an exercise not recorded, really doesn’t count. How would I feel if I saw many days had gone by between workouts? What if my ability to do a certain weight went down? And somehow there is just a comfort in carrying my little sheet of paper and pen with me from machine to machine.

To be honest, I probably have a few other OCD tendencies. I am religious about recording my time and distance on my walks/hikes using MapMyWalk on my phone (and not really happy with myself when I forget to restart the program after a break). I record my bike rides too. Each time I fill my car with gas, I manually calculate my mileage: Number of miles driven/number of gallons used. Yes, my car keeps a running record of mileage, but I still do this each fill. And when I put gas in the car, I always make sure the final cost is a number in which the last number before the decimal point is the same as the last number of the total price: $18.38, $26.96, etc. Bonus points if both sides match ($32.32). I tell myself this is so I know it is me who used my credit card to get gas. But maybe it is just being weird. I like all my shirts facing the same direction when hanging in the closet, with dress shirts grouped with dress shirts, flannel shirts with flannel shirts, etc. I record all my regular expenses each month in a spreadsheet, as well as my income. I track my investments monthly. I believe in the Oxford comma. I shop from a grocery list. I solve the Jumbles in each morning’s newspaper without fail.

I don’t see how any of these quirks degrades my quality of life - or the lives of others. And I like the feelings of orderliness that these routines generate. But it is probably good to recognize that such behaviors may be seen by others as odd.

But I am sticking with them.

Expectations vs. hopes

Image source https://society6.com/product/hope-is-the-thing-with-feathers-ed3_print

Much of life consists of uncertain outcomes. Which side will win a ball game? Will I get to work on time? Will the vacation go as planned? Will my health remain good? Will a friend want to stay friends? Will this new recipe be edible? Uncertainty ranges from the trivial to the profound, from controllable to completely willy-nilly.

It’s taken me many years, but I have come to realize a “hope” mindset makes for a happier life than an “expectation” mindset. By “hoping” something happens, one acknowledges one’s limitations. While I can be deliberate about my planning and preparation, be realistic in my predicted outcomes; and be thoughtful in my words and actions - thus improving the odds of things turning out well - there is no such thing as a sure bet. La mierda sucede.

When my expectations are too high, karma looks over my shoulder and often decides to cut me down a notch or two. One’s ego is often a big part when expecting an outcome. (The waiter will give ME top notch service because I am a valued customer!)

When my hopes are high, I am pleased when things turn out as well as they do. Good things happen regardless of one’s station or self-importance. (The waiter gave us great service tonight despite how understaffed the restaurant was. What a great guy he was!)

In anticipating with hope instead of expectation, I can focus on the wins in my life rather than the disappointments. And being content with what I have, who I am, and accepting fate for what it may bestow on me, might just be the key to genuine happiness.

Just random ruminations from an old fart...