Even I must admit, shopping is one of life’s joys. Not one of its greatest, certainly. Definitely NOT one of its cheapest. But there is something to be said for purchasing something with one’s hard-earned money. A certain sense of accomplishment, of independence. I am definitely a fan of capitalism.
I recently had shopping high. I was in Manila for a seminar and found myself (even before the seminar started) happily being led into 168—a warehouse of sorts that contained little stalls where they sold everything from watches to kitchenware, to clothes, to accessories, to toys and everything else in between at not just reasonable prices but at the cheapest I had ever found. (Although, I am sure that some professional haggler/shopper somewhere will tell me they can find a place where it’s cheaper.) And in a span of three hours or so, I had completed 80% of my Christmas list. Not too shabby. Not shabby at all.
Usually, I am a conservative shopper. But when everything around me is so cheap and I have no plans of returning, I can horde like the best of them. So there I was, getting dizzy from the claustrophobic stalls and feeling the weight of my purchases creeping up my arm. I kept mentally running through my list until I was perfectly satisfied that I had gotten everything right. And somewhere in the middle of all this, a fire broke out. A herd of people stampeded out into the streets. And I… I kept shopping. It sounds pretty bad but in my defense I was in the other building when it happened and by the time I got back the lady on the PA system was announcing that they had everything under control. After all, who was I to contradict the lady on the PA? She sounded like she knew what she was doing. And so I went back to my hotel with a thinner wallet but with two large loot bags to show for my effort.
And as I sifted through my stuff, I realized that a lot of the things I had bought were gifts for other people. Of course, I bought shirts here and there but the bulk of my purchases were for members of my family and household and some of my friends. And that made me feel…happy…and very grown-up.
You see, when I was lot younger, I was a hoarder. (And I know I’ve said that before in some article or other.) I wanted to get everything. Buy everything. Own everything. And my parents, because they were wise, never told me that I could have everything. I didn’t always have to have the latest push-button pencil box or the fashionable Trapper Keeper™. There were just some things I couldn’t have because we couldn’t afford it and there were just some things we couldn’t have because they said I couldn’t. And if my older self could have met my younger self and told her that someday, she’d learn that what everybody said about giving being better than receiving was true, she would have laughed at her older self.
And yet, there it is. And here I am, loving the fact that giving really is better than receiving. That the best part about shopping is when I shop for someone else. Even if I don’t have a lot of money and even if it sometimes means having to delay buying that one-of-a-kind shirt or that latest pair of jeans. Knowing that I can give a part of my self, a part of my labors and watching people I care about with their eyes lit up and with smiles on their faces everything becomes worthwhile. And now it all makes sense. No wonder why they tell us to give until it hurts. Giving really is the gift.