Tēnā koutou katoa,
We hope you are healthy, warm and fed. We hope the seasons are gentle and bring beauty and moments of change from our taiao at this time. In our day to day lives, there are times when our thoughts catch us. In moments of memory. In a wistful state. We consider those in our lives. A friend. A parent. A colleague. Someone whose presence has shaped us in ways both big and small.
In thinking of them and when we might see them next, a thoughts arrives, and questions. How do I celebrate them? How do I honour them? How could I reciprocate that which they have done for me? How could I express what they mean to me? What is the right thing to give?
Often we begin with the object. Something beautiful, something new, something useful, something we ourselves would like to possess. But, if we sit longer with these questions, that approach can begin to feel uncertain. However there are other paths and thoughts that may guide us here.
Simone Weil once wrote;
‘Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.’
Attention in this sense is not validation, monitoring or judging. It is quiet awareness and noticing. A patient openness to someone you care for. As they are, in the fullness of themselves. Good, bad, happy, sad, kind, annoying. Just themselves.
To give well, we must first see and understand well. Hirini Moko Mead writes on the contextual, relational and reciprocal nature of the gifting of Taonga within ao Māori. Not simply an exchange, but part of a wider relationship. It reflects respect, balance and an ongoing connection between people.
As such that question is perhaps not what is a good gift. Rather what does this relationship, at this time and in this context need? What do they truly want or need? For some, it may be a carefully chosen Taonga. For others, it may be time. Presence. Returning. A listening ear. A phone call.
When we give to express ourselves, the gift can become a reflection of our own taste, our own identity. The process can demonstrate attributes about ourselves. When we give from a place of whataiti, of humility and attention to who is receiving the gift, it becomes something else entirely. A recognition of who the other person is, and what might support or care for them in that moment.
This kind of giving asks something of us. To set aside our assumptions. To soften our preferences. To allow the other person to remain fully themselves, without being shaped by what we choose to give. It is not always easy. But when it is done well, the result often feels simple. Clear. Loving. As though it could not have been anything else.
At Mākoha, we often return to this whakaaro. That the gift begins long before it is wrapped. It begins in the quality of our attention. The way we notice. The way we listen. The way we come to understand those we care for.
From there, the form of the gift reveals itself more clearly. And when it is finally given, it carries something deeper than the object alone. It carries the feeling for them of being seen deeply. There is something quiet and powerful in that attention.
Kia mataara,
Nā tātou o Mākoha