October 12, 2023
Today was one of those ordinary Tuesdays that turned extraordinary because of a simple act: giving a gift. Let me backtrack. My coworker, Sarah, has been having a rough month—her dog passed away, work deadlines piled up, and she’d been quieter than usual. I wanted to do something, but flowers felt too generic, and a coffee gift card too transactional. Then I remembered her offhand comment weeks ago about how she’d always wanted a stuffed sloth as a kid but never got one.
I drove to a local toy store after work, feeling oddly nostalgic walking down aisles of plush animals. The sloth section had a ridiculous variety—some with googly eyes, others wearing tiny hats. I settled on a medium-sized one with absurdly long arms (perfect for hugging, I thought). The cashier smiled and said, “Someone’s gonna love this,” and I realized how much I’d underestimated the power of intentional gifting.
The next morning, I left the sloth on Sarah’s desk with a note: “For the 8-year-old you who deserved this, and the adult you who deserves comfort.” When she saw it, she teared up and hugged me. Not a “thank you” hug—a “you see me” hug. We spent lunch break reminiscing about childhood toys, and for the first time in weeks, she laughed.
This got me thinking: Why do we relegate stuffed animals to kids? In a world where adults are drowning in screens and stress, soft toys are tiny anchors to simplicity. They’re non-judgmental listeners on bad days and silent cheerleaders on good ones. That sloth now sits on Sarah’s office chair, its goofy grin a reminder that healing can be fuzzy and uncomplicated.
Maybe we’ve overcomplicated emotional support. Sometimes, what people need isn’t advice or solutions—it’s a tangible piece of kindness they can hold onto. Literally.
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