I like to give gifts.  I’m a gift-giver.  You know, one of those strange people who actually do find significant pleasure in giving.  Perhaps that makes my gift-giving a selfish act, which in itself negates the original intent, but that philosophical quagmire will be left for another post.  Or not.

Nevertheless, to me, gift-giving is a very personal thing.

I understand the reasoning behind gift cards and standardized presents.  If anything, I’m regularly reminded of the reasons behind these ideologies as a result of my gifts.  It doesn’t matter how much thought I put into a gift to personalize it for the individual, a memory or a relationship, it can always be distorted, maligned or just simply undermined by those pernicious character traits lurking in us all: jealousy, envy, narcissism, bitterness, ignorance, and all other insidious joy destroyers.  These are the storms of outside egos, the voices and emotions that muddy the waters of good intent and miss the obvious facts, and sometimes the universal truth.

This year I gave a gift to a friend.  She’s a domestic goddess of sorts, a chef in her own right and a Twitter aficionado.  That’s where I met her, on Twitter.  We formed an instant connection based on a common passion and similar humor, but it went beyond that.  Even after we met in person, that connection was undeniably authentic.  There was understanding without explanation,  acceptance without justification.  It was one of those relationships that just came easy.

The idea was to give her a pea pod ornament that would both mirror her foodie identity and celebrate her Twitter experience.  The problem: there were only nine peas in the pod.  Obviously I would not be able to fit all of her friends into the pod.  But then, the idea of a peas in a pod is not to include everyone.  The idiom itself is indicative of a special connection beyond fun, fandom and frivolity, right?  So of course I considered my friend, who she’d met in person, what I knew of her and with whom she most felt that invisible connection.  It doesn’t negate other friendships.  It doesn’t even downgrade them.  We all have relationships in our lives that serve varying purposes and have defining strengths.  You will never be in everyone’s pod anymore than everyone will be in yours.  This is truly a fact of life.

After much thought, I labeled the little peas in the pod with her nine Twitter friends.  They weren’t the same ones I would choose.  They weren’t the same I would choose for another friend, although I did make an exact duplicate for one friend, but it was based on a specific reason to her and her experience.  This was her pod, her gift.

You can guess how it all unfolded.  She was thrilled with the gift and the peas not on the pod felt shucked.

Although I think we all can understand the initial “why am I not on the pod” knee-jerk reaction, maturity and logic should be the sustaining thought.  The need to be included is as normal as breathing, but when dealing with hurt feelings surrounding a perceived exclusion it’s important to step outside of yourself and look at the bigger picture.

This got me thinking of relationships and the pod dynamic.

For the most part, pods are shared.  You know who would be in yours and you know you would be in there’s.  That’s the connection.  If you’ve ever thought, “I wish I knew them better” or “I don’t really understand them” or if you don’t really miss them on a gut-wrenching level when they are absent from your days, you probably don’t share a pod.  You may like the person, you may like the idea of being included in their pod, you may even be trying to form the bond that would create a gravitational pod pull.  But if you don’t organically feel that abiding connection, it’s not your pod.

We are all pod people.  Traditionally, we are a part of several pods from different areas of life: a family pod, school pod, work pod, online pod, fan pod, etc. Sometimes we try to blend our peas, to unite them in one big pod.  The illusion of success can be seen at parties and social events, in times of tragedy and need, but pea pods a rarely fully integrated.  They are linked by an indefinable soul source.

There are also times we longingly look at pods and feel the cold from the outside looking in…all the while, surrounded by the warmth of our own pod.   One of the saddest things we do as humans is ignore the peas in our pod while seeking inclusion in another pod.

I’ve been thinking about my pod(s).   Who are my peas?  Who are the friends I connect with beyond a shared universe, or even a shared orbit, and into a shared living atmosphere?   Who are the friends I don’t have to work and struggle to connect with?   The friends with whom I share a “knowing” that doesn’t really make sense to anyone but us?

Everyone in my life has a significance, a special place and purpose.  We share a story, a lesson, an adventure.  We share a relationship experience that matters to me.  But the truth is, I wouldn’t be who I am without my peas and the safety of that pod.  I’m glad I have them.  I’m glad you have yours.

Who would be the nine peas in your pod?  Stop a minute and give them a hug.