Gifts drive culture

Robyn and I, technically, had two weddings. The first, on a Saturday, was celebrated by a priest in an old Catholic Church in Detroit. The church had hand-painted ceilings and huge multi-story pillars made of upper-peninsula timber, wider in diameter than hula hoops. It was beautiful.

The second ceremony was performed by a Hindu pandit, the next day. Shastri Ji is someone I’ve known since the age of 6, when we moved to Metro Detroit and started going to the local Temple. As he performed the Pheras, our marriage rites where we circled an open fire used for the ceremony, he shared two pieces of sage wisdom. I think about regularly.

First, he explained the essence of marriage, simply and with just one word - together, together, together.

Second, he shared an important idea in the Hindu conception of marriage, which explains one reason (among many) of why women are so important. A woman marrying into a family purifies it, not once, but twice - first she purifies her husband, second she purifies the ancestral line through any children she bears.

Marriage, in the way, is an act of double purification.

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Even though giving a gift, truly and sincerely is difficult - demanding something of our souls - it’s what drives our culture forward.

It seems to me that there are two general ways to improve culture: changing possibilities and changing norms.

Changing possibilities requires an innovation, a new and better way of doing something. In this way refrigerators and democracy are quite similar.

Refrigerators gave a new and better of storing and preserving food, opening up the possibilities of agricultural exports, stretching the reach of the food supply, and culinary exploration for home cooks. Democracy gave a new and better way of governing states, opening up possibilities to mitigate the risk of tyrants and creating the condition of human rights and flourishing.

Changing norms requires a deviant behavior, ideally positive, which by definition is a risky act because it is different. In this way, art and telling someone you love them are quite similar.

Art is a risky act because the artist is bring a point of view, something fresh, that is untested and unusual, which means nobody may like, pay for, or even understand it. Telling someone you love them, obviously, is a risk because if they don’t say it back it’s surely heartbreaking.

The risk is what makes positive deviance so impactful - the deviant bears the social risk of being different, proves that different is possible. This is how norms change.

Innovations have switching costs, which is what makes them feel so sudden, so violent sometimes. Pressure builds, like a tea kettle, and then when the time has come for the better way, it bursts and whistles, jolting the masses into something novel. The nature of culture changing innovations is that of a phase shift.

Gifts can be gradual. They change the culture one conversation and one hug at a time. The effects of gifts layer, and years later we wonder, “how could it have ever been different?”

So many of the littlest moments can be gifts, like when we hear…

“Excuse ma’am, you dropped this,” in the grocery line.

“Good afternoon,” as a neighbor smiles as we pass on the sidewalk.

“Thank you for your leadership,” from a respected colleague.

“I know you like this kind of granola,” from our spouse who went grocery shopping.

“Let me get that for you,” from a shopkeeper who sees our hands are full.

Or “I’m glad you’re here,” from just about anyone at any time.

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There is a certain agony that comes from buying a present that’s really from the heart. In a moment of Charlie Brown-esque inner turmoil, we think, “dear God, I hope they like it.”

Part of this angst is about the gift itself. There’s a genuine worry that the contents of the package will be pleasing to the person whose day we seek to brighten.

The other half of the angst is that the TLC we put into the gift will be rejected, or wasted. We worry about the risk we have taken, the love that we have wagered in this gift, and whether that piece of our soul that we’ve woven into the wrapping and bow will be seen, or if it will not.

It seems to me that this is what all gifts have in common, even if that gift is simply holding the door open for the stranger in public who happens to also be walking into the Olive Garden for an early dinner.

All gifts are both the content of the gift, plus the social risk taken to give it. When we give a gift that is truly sincere, we acknowledge that our effort may be shunned and proceed anyway.

I think that’s what makes a gift truly special. Perhaps it’s not quite the thought that counts, but the risk that counts even more. We intuitively understand this - we respond emotionally and perhaps unconsciously to the notion that “someone bore all this risk, for me?”

And so too for the giver, they also respond emotionally and perhaps unconsciously to the notion that “I was able to shoulder all this risk, for someone else?”

Gifts, too, are an act of double purification.

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I am fascinated by Silicon Valley, the salons of Europe, or even Detroit and New York when Motown and hip-hop were coming on the scene in the back half of the 20th century. How did these creative clusters develop? How did it happen? How did these incredibly vibrant, artistic, and entrepreneurial places emerge?

In Detroit, to be called an “OG”, short for “Original Gangster” is one of the highest signs of respect one can be bestowed with. It doesn’t simply mean, “old person”, it implies some level of experience but also generosity. An OG is someone who not only has the wisdom of experience but the willingness to be a pillar of a community, that others can lean on to grow and thrive.

Being on OG implies that you were not only successful in your own right, but were also responsible for helping the next generation come up behind you.

I think it’s these OGs, who are often working behind the scenes in a community, that are the unsung heroes of these creative cluster. What would Silicon Valley be without the cadre of angel investors and mentors in the early days that funded and brought those behind them along? What would Paris be without the bakers who let starving artists pay for bread with their paintings? What would hip-hop be without the radio DJs who would play these strange, new songs on air?

These small acts did not make history, but they are what made history. These gifts mattered.

Even though giving a sincere gift is difficult - demanding something of our souls -it’s what drives our culture forward.