It Was Never About The Flowers
Why We Aren’t Interested in Flowers If We Have To Ask
I have a friend who has an exceptional talent for gift giving. He is a thrifter, and so frequently encounters small oddities that help him in this habit.
When I turned 30 last month, he brought me what was among the most touching gifts I have ever received, although having found it at a thrift store he assured me the price tag was only $1.00.
He had stumbled upon a vintage blown glass pitcher with my alma mater’s emblem.
Since I went to a very small college about 800 miles from where we live, I was utterly shocked he had found this, and even more deeply touched he had bought it for me. It now resides in a place of appropriate honor in my cabinets, ready for an afternoon of cocktails with a friend.
I caught myself a little off guard with the depth of my emotional reaction to this gesture. Like a lot of people, I think I had to a degree written off the love language of “receiving gifts” as a materialistic and surface-level one, but clearly, this pitcher had done a lot to make me feel secure and valued in my friendship.
This thought sat in the back of my mind for a week or two.
