Love Beats Money, Every Time

Ella came home from school excited to recount a story from one of her teachers.

"Mrs. Vesely visited a village in Africa where some of the poorest people live. And it turns out," Ella said excitedly, "they're really happy."

Tanya, my wife, challenged our third-grader. "Wouldn't it make sense that the more you have, the happier you would be?"

"No, it's not money that makes you happy. It's love," Ella replied.

"Did Mrs. Vesely tell you that?" Tanya probed.

Ella shook her head. "I figured it out on my own."

Ella stumbled upon a realization that may forever alter her view of life. At the risk of simplifying a complex issue, and to paraphrase the Beatles, love may indeed be all we need. Could it really be that simple?

Around holiday time, it's easy to get caught up in the cult of commercialism. Even if we make our yearly shopping pilgrimages strictly to buy for others, it's easy to get sucked into collecting things for ourselves, too. The barrage of advertisements tells us more is better, and it's hard to resist stockpiling our possessions.

I'm not against pumping funds into our struggling economy, and I'm certainly not against responsible gift-giving to loved ones and the less fortunate. The problem is when the tendency to buy gifts overtakes the desire for generosity of spirit, which is the true meaning of the holidays. It doesn't happen intentionally, but materialism has a way of transcending the meaningful by playing on our greed. While that new toy or necklace might give short-term happiness, it can never replace our need for quality time with one another.

A friend of mine and his wife in Chicago decided a few years ago that from now on at Christmas they would forgo gifts for each other. They donate the money they would have spent and instead volunteer their time and energy at schools and shelters. They give gifts that help their beneficiaries more than any wrapped present could, and they feel better. Emotions can't be quantified on a balance sheet.

Along the same lines, gifts can't provide love. No matter how much I love my television and my iPod, they don't hug back. When I die, I'll never remember what I got for Christmas in 2011, but I'm pretty sure I'd remember serving someone a hot meal or snuggling in bed with my kids on Christmas morning.

This discussion repeats itself every year because it's easy to get swept up in the holiday hoopla. I lament the absurd sales that begin at midnight and the unimaginable sums of money spent on gifts that go unused by Presidents Day. Every year, I vow to buy fewer gifts and to pay more attention to things like volunteerism, charity and human connection. Alas, I am a work in progress.

So given our insatiable desire for emotionless possessions, is it possible to be happy with only the bare necessities?

Only if Ella and the Beatles were right.