At first it felt like a sale: items listed, tidy photos, a few notes—“free to a good home.” People came and took things, thanked me, left. The rhythm was easy. But generosity, once given a form, asks questions back.
mygiveawayme also forced me to confront scarcity: of space, time, attention. Giving away a thing made room—physical and psychic—to receive something else. But it also revealed privilege: the freedom to give is often possible only because someone else bears the need. That truth tugged at how I labeled items and how I asked for nothing in return. mygiveawayme
The project sharpened my view of identity. “Me” fragmented and multiplied across the giveaway list: the practical me who cleared clutter, the nostalgic me who catalogued memories, the performative me who curated generosity for attention, and the private me who was learning to ask what I needed in return—respect, kindness, care for the things I’d entrusted. Each transaction rewove who I was with a new strand: the giver, the witness, the one who was trusted. At first it felt like a sale: items
What does “giveaway” mean when the thing given is more than an object? I started slipping other things into the list: an afternoon of listening, the password to a playlist I’d made on a rainy night, a recipe scribbled on the back of an envelope, a memory I’d been storing like a fragile jar. Each item wore a different gravity. Some were light to let go; some made me check the listing twice, as if by naming them I risked losing them forever. mygiveawayme also forced me to confront scarcity: of
There were quiet surprises. A chair I posted with a line—“sat in by someone who learned to stand again”—was taken by a woman who left a note: “We named it Courage.” A jar of pickles I couldn’t finish found its way to an old neighbor who didn’t cook anymore; she sent back a sauced-up story and a jar of jam. Gifts made reciprocity elastic; sometimes it came back as words, sometimes as meals shared on a stoop, sometimes not at all.
If you started a mygiveawayme of your own, what would you list first—and why?