There was a time, not so long ago, when I had a lot more money than I have now. I had a larger house and a car that didn't belong mostly to the bank. I had all the things I thought I wanted, but in reality nothing that really mattered. Like a lot of people with money, I just didn't know how poor I was.

There was a time, not so long ago, when I would be disappointed and hurt when someone close to me forgot my birthday. That missing present, the missing card, was an unwelcome reminder that affection is not always returned, that thoughtfulness doesn't always produce the reciprocation we feel we deserve.

There was a time, not so long ago, that I decided not to worry about money, not to expect appreciation, I determined that I would do things for the people I cared about with no anticipation of my gesture returned-my satisfaction was the enjoyment of what I gave, rather than the acknowledgement.

There was a time, not so long ago, when holidays filled me with anxiety and stress. Finding the right gift was an arduous chore, shopping was a task I abhorred. Now, I keep my eyes and my ears open; I scout for clues in the course of my ordinary days - not of what I want to give, but of what might please the person I'm giving to. Sometimes, it's a pair of argyle socks or a Charlie Brown tie; it could be as simple as a box of herbal tea.

There was a time, not so long ago, when I answered the phone and all the other speaker said to me was, "I called just to hear you say 'Hello'." I'll never know how my caller knew my perfect present. Or how present perfect life could be.