December Founders Corner: The Quiet Joy of Giving (and the Soft Magic of Connection)

“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…” drifts through the supermarket speakers and I find myself smiling before I can stop it. That song carries a long-standing family joke, one of my relatives confidently singing, “Jack Frost nibbling in your nose…”…the kind of tiny, silly misstep that sticks for years and warms me every time it resurfaces. It’s in moments like these that I’m reminded connection doesn’t always arrive with grand gestures. Often, it slips in sideways: a shared glance, a familiar lyric, a private laugh echoing quietly through time. 

Has this happened to you? A song, a scent, a gateway to somewhere back there in a treasure chest of memory where something sweet lived and it surfaces and you are temporary held in the warmth of what was a good moment?

This year, as the season gathers speed around me, I’ve been thinking about the softer ways we connect. One way that can take the sting of over working or over extending is through giving. Not the big, hurried, Black-Friday-cart-overflowing-rushing-kind of giving, but the subtle, sensory kind that seems to stitch people together in quiet, lasting ways. Today, my kitchen smelled like heaven as I’ve finally perfected my Masala chai blend. I call it my Smilin’ Chai, the warming spices blooming through the house while cool winter sunshine spilling through the windows bringing that subtle Buddha smile to my cheeks. I’ve been mixing jars to bring into the office, and others to gift…tiny containers of flavor, comfort, and intention. It feels playful, almost like bottling a bit of the season’s magic.

In years past, my kids and I delivered art supplies, warm clothing, and blankets to families who needed them. The memory of those little faces lighting up still sits bright in all of us. It wasn’t the gifts themselves, but the moment. The exchange, the alignment, the shared spark of human warmth in places where the world had been cold. My children, now adults, still talk about it as a foundation memory. Simple acts like these embed themselves within us, just like a song your find yourself whistling to yourself.

But giving doesn’t always feel magical. Sometimes it feels like one more obligation on an already heavy list. Some of us are more inward this time of year, moving quietly through the world rather than bursting with holiday exuberance. And that’s okay. Giving doesn’t have to be large, loud, or performative. It doesn’t even need to be material. Giving can be a form of presence. A whisper of connection rather than a shout.

So this season, I find myself curious about playful giving, the kind that invites connection without pressure. Here are a few soft, whimsical ways to offer yourself to others.

• Share a sensory moment.
A cup of your favorite tea blend, a new spice mix, a handwritten recipe. It’s giving comfort in a form someone can hold.

• Give a micro-pause of presence.
Look someone in the eye for two seconds longer than usual. Let yourself really arrive in the moment with them. That tiny alignment can be a gift all its own.

• Offer something ephemeral.
A compliment that names something true. A joke. A memory. A story that lightens the air.

• Make something small.
A drawing on a sticky note. A folded paper star. A bookmark. A playlist. A tiny thing says: I was thinking of you. The Small counts in this bank of sweetness.

• Share warmth quietly.
What about making some mini comfort gift bags for the unhoused and handing them out when you see someone in need?

• Let giving be playful, not perfect.
Burnt cookies still count. Mismatched gift wrapping still counts. A jar of spices tossed together with joy still counts. In fact, it’s the imperfect that makes homemade all the better!

Because giving, at its heart, isn’t about the object. Rather, it is about the energy exchanged, the moment of alignment, the invisible thread that hums between two people when one says, I see you. I thought of you. I want to share this piece of my world with you.

In that sense, giving becomes less of a task and more of a gentle experiment in connection. A spiritual gateway. A way to step out of our heads and into the shared space between us. A chance to feel the beautiful, mysterious push and pull of human energy—the quiet magic that has always been there.

And maybe that’s the real gift of this season: the invitation to offer something small and true, to connect in ways that feel playful and authentic, to let generosity be not a duty but a doorway.

May this season be a gateway to connect in the small moments that spill over into the Niagara Falls of goodness. From my heart to yours, Happy Holidays.