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For those of you who are familiar with my eclectic personality, you know that I hate receiving gifts. My discomfort towards receiving any type of present arrived about 15 years ago. I will never forget when I opened a bottle of perfume, that my mother had purchased for me, which was very expensive, and like the pubescent asshole teenager that I was, I cried because it was not the correct scent. I then took the perfume and put it into the infamous “return pile.” It was from that moment on that I decided that I was not worthy of people spending their hard earned money on me. It was also at that moment that I realized that I had turned into a complete and total jerk.

With that being said, I almost never allow people to buy gifts for me. I am adult enough to recognize that I do not respond well when I am given a gift that does not meet my very specific tastes. My lack of excitement over receiving gifts is just one of the reasons that my family and I now value time spent with each other over spending our money on each other. However, there have been a few brave souls that still attempt to buy me a gift, even though I always warn them against this horrible idea.

For example, I have an amazing friend who knows me so well that for Christmas this year he bought me a gift so special that I almost cried. The gift was a journal filled with beautiful blank pages. I had basically been eyeing up and talking about a journal of this magnitude for weeks. Every time I would enter a Books-a-Million, Barnes & Noble, or even Marshall’s I would be on a mad hunt for a hardback journal that encompassed nothing but black pages. Of course, I finally had found the perfect journal at Anthropologie, but me being the cheapskate that I am, I had to walk away from the expensive, but very beautiful, selection of journals.

Two weeks later, my friend gave me one of the most beautiful and unique gifts that has met my weird and very unique tastes. To so many, this journal may seem insignificant, but for me, this journal is not just a journal. To me, this journal is a wealth of untapped knowledge. It is a book that I can fill my creative ideas into that pop into my brain on a whim. This journal filled with blank pages is an outlet for me on my stressful days and a place where I can express joy on the happy days. This gift, this  journal filled with blank pages, is an opportunity for me to be exactly who I am, at exactly any moment,  on exactly any day without judgement.

And what better gift could anyone give to someone else, than the opportunity to be just who they are whenever they need to be exactly who they need to be?

 

 

 

 

 

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