What Are We Giving the Planet This Year?
What if we shifted toward giving experiences, time, and things made by hand? Gifts that cost our own energy, not the planet’s?
We are coming to the end of the second hottest year on record, having just passed the consumerist ritual of Black Friday, and are now deep into a December littered with festivities, all calling for extra consumerism. End-of-year festivities turbocharge our waste production by between 20-30% through an increase in disposing of packaging, food, electronic waste and even gifts. A few weeks ago my boyfriend came home with a box of lights he had found on the street. As I strung these rescued lights around the living room, I put on Mariah Carey’s All I Want for Christmas Is You, but instead of feeling in the season, I felt that all I wanted was less consumerism, more rest, connection, and quality time.
Author Ursula K. Le Guin reframes gifting as a shared act, where craft and labour are gestures of connection instead of mere transactions. What if we shifted toward giving experiences, time, and things made by hand? Gifts that cost our own energy, not the planet’s?
We had what my family coined the two-dollar Christmas. Every gift had that limit, which was initiated for us kids, but it was also a quiet test in non-consumerism. The gifts that linger are the ones where someone’s time, effort, and skill are embedded into the object. I still have the recipe book my sister hand-typed, and my dad still wears his apron even though it’s rather ratty-looking, though the wooden deck chair and hammock disintegrated years ago.
Poet Mary Oliver goes a step further, seeing gifting as something far simpler and deeper: giving your full presence and care, as “attention is the beginning of devotion”. As teenagers we decided that we wanted to sidestep consumerist festivities and our family went hiking (we lived in the southern hemisphere) to avoid it, spending four days in nature, sleeping in huts and eating dehydrated food. That year our gift was disconnection from festive chaos culture and connection to nature and each other in wide open spaces.
More recently I have focused on solidarity gifts, donating to NGOs, and giving cards that say “I bought you a goat.” Meaningful in intention, even these can feel like a workaround that doesn’t address the deeper pattern of gifting on autopilot.
I lean more into Wendell Berry’s “economy of affection”, which suggests that what truly sustains us is an economy measured in care, attention and relationships. Which is maybe why each December I turn to another workaround. I bake personalised gingerbread cookies for my boyfriend’s extended family, each one shaped around whatever marked their year: a broken rib, a new baby, or vascular surgery. It takes time, skill, and a bit of playful ingenuity to turn dough into these mementos. Every year I set the bar too high, yet it’s a tradition I enjoy, built on humour, attention and the simple pleasure of making a personal edible treat.
Though while I may think I have got gifting covered this year, it has got me thinking, what am I giving the planet this year? What gift does planet earth need from humanity?
The first few ideas spring from our penchant to pollute – giving the planet a breather from so much waste, more reuse and repurposing. Though they quickly turn to connection – spending more time connected to nature, slowing down, paying attention, and showing respect. Suddenly thinking about what I’m going to give the planet means I am rethinking gifting itself.
Some ways to rethink gifts
- Give experiences before objects. Spend time together doing an activity.
- Ask yourself, does this gift cost more of the planet’s energy than my own? If the answer is yes, shift the balance. Make, mend, bake, craft, draw or write.
- Set a budget to spark creativity. Financial limits can turn gifting into an imaginative exercise.
- Upcycle, repair and repurpose. Transform what you already have into something.
- Give solidarity. If you choose to donate, let the person know your connection to the cause you have supported on their behalf.
Words and research by Anna Borrie for Rethinking Climate
Rethinking Climate:
In a world often defined by crisis headlines and carbon counts, stories of climate action can feel like they live on the periphery, minuscule in the shadow of an overwhelming challenge. Climate stories go beyond scientists, policymakers, and activists. They also take shape in unexpected places: studios, workshops, design labs, community spaces, small corners of cities and in rural landscapes.
These essays grew out of noticing this. They trace how creativity and care intersect with the climate crisis, how artists, architects, and makers are turning what once symbolised environmental failure into forms of renewal. Each story begins with a familiar problem – a tyre fire on the city’s edge, smog above the skyline, discarded textiles, and industrial offcuts – and follows the people transforming these materials and ideas into new forms of value.
To rethink climate is to shift perspective, to see potential where others see residue, and to design systems that regenerate rather than extract. This isn’t only about technology; it’s about creativity, empathy, and design. It’s about finding beauty in what was once waste and building futures that don’t just sustain life but also enrich it.
Anna Borrie:
Anna Borrie is Associate Editor at Planted Journal, where she explores the intersections between ecology, art, and storytelling. Her work is rooted in a creating meaningful connections between people and their environments. She runs a community garden in Madrid, where she cultivates both plants and relationships with fellow gardeners. Her interests lie in creating collaborative environmental art and promoting zero-waste practices, seeking ways to harmonise creativity with environmental responsibility.
