About a decade ago now, Matthew Killingsworth and Daniel Gilbert wrote a paper that argued that, in order to find happiness, you should relish the moment.

Material stuff, they said, has no actual value, except in the promise of happiness it can bring. There is no greater value to owning a brand new, $300,000, 228-hp Ecosse FE Ti XX motorcycle than owning a $5,500 BMW G 310 R. You could buy an entire fleet of the latter for the same price as one of the former (54, if you must know). But for the passionate rider, the BMW can bring exactly the same amount of joy, because it is not the actual bike itself that has value. It is the fact that it can take you places. It is the joy of cruising down the highway.

It is the experience of riding the motorcycle, not the motorcycle itself, that is valuable.

Of course, there are other ways it can have value, more than just riding it. For some, the joy is found in working on the bike: in pulling it apart and putting it back together. In the act of working on it, or so the book Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Repair would have us believe.

And for some, yes, there is a joy to be had in having the Ecosse, but for these people, it is the act of collecting that brings them joy. It is not the item itself, but the act of collecting and curating it.

Experiences bring people more happiness possessions. One of the ways it does (according to Killingsworth and Gilbert) is not just in the experience, but in the anticipation of the experience.

While finding peace in the here and now is the best way to be content, anticipating an experience can be the next best thing. Today might suck, but I’m going to a concert next week, so I’ll think about that instead. Or that trip to Mexico, or even just going to a movie with friends tonight (obviously these are theoretical at this very moment). That anticipation for an experience elicits more happiness (says the researchers) than just simply more stuff.

Of course, experiences and material goods are sometimes interlinked, as in the motorcycle example above. There are plenty of devices and things that are tied to an experience, but the key is the pleasure you derive from that device, rather than simple the mere act of possessing it.

Part of the reasons experiences are better is they are more personal, or—again, in the words of the researchers—people are less likely to measure the value of their experience in comparison to others. Would you rather get paid a lot, but less than other people in your company, or would you rather get paid less, but more than people in your company? That’s hard to figure out. But if I asked would you rather go on a two week vacation, when your fellow workers only get one, or would you rather go for four weeks when everyone else gets eight? Doesn’t seem fair, but I’m going for the four weeks.

Also, that vacation? You get to decide where you’re going. It’s a personal choice. If you go out to catch a band, chances are it’s going to be a band you like. Your new sorta seafoam Pixel 6? Is exactly the same as everybody else’s sorta seafoam Pixel 6? But that trip to the Maldives where you went diving and fell in love with this cute pony that was on the beach and broke your toe and spent every moment you could living life? Who has had the exact same combinations of moments?

This seems counter-intuitive. Stuff—like a couch or a new purse or a fancy sweater—lasts, but an experience is transient and intangible. But stuff that we see every day loses its perceived value. It just becomes, well, more stuff. But that trip? That was the highlight of the year. Even a bad experience can become a good story.

And stories also play a part in this whole process. Sure, we can talk about that fancy new phone we just got, but do you really want to listen to someone describe in glorious detail their new carpet? Wouldn’t you rather hear about their experiences dancing with everybody at the club on the weekend? Experiences are social glue.

Sure, new stuff might give you a hit of dopamine, but when that wears off, what next? We’re like a kid at Christmas, opening presents. As soon as the wrapper is off the one, we’re on to the next. And stuff? Can get in the way of what really matters: goals and meaning and self actualization and relationships and self-love and acceptance and becoming a better person.

All this is to say we’re heading into a season that combines the best and worst of who we are as a society. It is a time where we consider our relationships to our fellow humans. We give to charity and we spend time with friends, but we also buy way more stuff than we need, and we give people stuff that they don’t need.

So as you’re looking for things to get the ones you love this Christmas, think about giving of yourself. About giving of your time and your being. Instead of getting people more stuff, find ways to make it an experience. And find ways to give yourself: to your family, to your friends. Sure, we all remember some special gift we got when we were younger, but more likely, we remember the special people. My mom knit me socks for Christmas every year. And while I still have a bag full of them, I’d trade them in an instant to have her back.

The most valuable thing you have to give is you.

In my next post, I’m going to offer a bunch of suggestions for ways to create experiences. And, spoiler warning, a photo shoot for, with, or gifted to someone is definitely on that list. But for now, stay warm, relax, and enjoy the season. If you buy into the whole stuff thing, it can be stressful as you go looking for more stuff to find for people who didn’t appreciate the stuff you got them last time. And it’s hard to turn down all the noise and just focus on what’s important. Your friends, your family, and you.