It's a cold, wet mid-December in Ireland. The Christmas lights were switched on a few weeks ago. Santas with twisted beards that feel like fishing line are bouncing small children on their laps in shopping complexes up and down the country. There's a buzz of joviality in the air. People are excited. There are gifts to be got; carefully selected gifts that their givers know will make their receivers grin like cheshire cats.
A 15-year-old girl is excitedly telling her father all about the gifts she's just spent the day in Dublin buying. She knows her family and friends will love them.
"Gift giving is selfish," her father says.
Her stomach plummets as her face falls into a frown. She feels slightly sick.
"What do you mean? I'm not being selfish. I put my list together really carefully. I thought about the things each person likes and dislikes, and the excitement they'll feel when they open what I got them."
"How will you feel?" her father replies.
"When they open them?"
"Yes."
"Well, obviously I'll feel great if they like them as much as I think they will."
"And what if they don't?" His voice has a knowing in its tone.
She's not sure what to say. She knows she'll be devastated. She put so much time and effort into planning the perfect gifts. Moments of silence pass. There's an awkward tension in them. Her father knows she'll be disappointed. He knows what she's not yet ready to say aloud.
"I'll be disappointed. And probably annoyed..." she finally admits. "Bu, but not at them," she hastens to add, fearful of being seen in a negative light. "At myself for not getting it right."
More silence as her father lets the awareness settle in. Her joy has been punctured by the gentle prick of reality. He is right.
She could try to convince herself she's put her loved ones first in buying their gifts. She could walk away unconvinced, stubbornly satisfied that she's right. But she's too much of a realist for that. Once the spark of awareness has been struck, there's no putting it out of her mind. But that doesn't mean she likes it.
"What? Because how I feel will be affected by their response, I'm selfish. Is that it?"
Her father smiles that infuriating smile he puts on when he knows his message has landed.
"Not quite."
He's doing that thing he does. Teaching, he calls it. She'll get there eventually.
Silence snakes the walls, coating the garden shed in a dense dullness. He waits. She squirms, lighting a cigarette. They do this every week when she comes to visit; sit outside after dinner, putting the world to rights, sucking in long, deep draws of Carrolls cigarettes.
"I don't get it. Are you saying it's selfish or not?"
"Gift giving is selfish," he repeats, stressing 'gift.'
The space in front of the teenager's lips burns red as she drags on the now yellowing filter. Not permitted freedom, the smoke that tries to escape her lips curls backwards on itself as her inhale draws it into her young lungs. "Tssssss," she exhales slowly through clenched teeth, frustrated.
"I'm not selfish. The act is."
CRACK!
Her father snaps his hands together, beaming as he leans forwards, fag dangling loosely from his lower lip. "Now you have it." He sounds almost as excited as his daughter had been while telling him about her gifts a little earlier. He gets a great kick when his girls catch on to his lessons.
"You are not the act," he chirps. "Gift giving is a selfish act because it is focused on an emotional outcome for the giver."
"But it's also focused on the receiver," the girl snaps back.
"I'm not denying that. All I'm saying is that any act which involves expectation by the doer of the act has selfishness within it."
"Fuck, that's a hard one to accept," she spits, smashing her cigarette into the ashtray as they stand to go back inside.
Almost 30 years later, a grown woman now, she's reading a post on social media. It's about fear. The creator says they don't believe in themselves. They're afraid to take up an opportunity in case they allow fear to overcome them and run away...again. They've never felt good enough, no matter how many people tell them they are worthy, no matter how much evidence is in front of their eyes.
When she first reads the post, she is delighted for its publisher. It's her dream opportunity. She writes "congratulations" in the comments. She continues writing, intending to add something inspirational to boost the person's belief in themselves. She stops.
"This attitude is selfish. They have hundreds of people supporting them. They have just been granted the opportunity of a lifetime that I'd break down doors to get, and they're still complaining about not feeling good enough, placing their self-worth in the hands of others. What the fuck is wrong with people? At what point do they stop playing the victim and start taking ownership of themselves and their lives?"
She doesn't write either comment. She doesn't want to sound unsupportive of the person. Their fears come from a lifetime of negative narratives that are engraved on the record in their mind. They're either too comfortable with them to change the track, or haven't done the work to remould them.
She reflects on her own life. She's held back from doing things over the years because of fear. She could have changed a lot more lives more quickly if she had been less afraid. Who is she to judge?
Now a sometimes social smoker, she has nothing to draw on as her mind whirs. A memory stirs. It's Christmastime in Ireland. She's just told her Dad all about her gifts.
"Gift giving is selfish," he says.
Almost 30 years later, standing in the kitchen, she realises...
"So is fucking fear."
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