Two Ways of Seeing the World: Understanding Market vs. Gift Economy Through Robin Wall Kimmerer's Eyes
What if There’s A “New” Economic System That Benefits Authors?
I'll be honest—before reading Robin Wall Kimmerer's The Serviceberry, I thought I understood economics. Supply and demand, resources are scarce, compete or get left behind.
Pretty straightforward, right?
Then Kimmerer introduced me to something I'd never really considered: what if there was a completely different way to think about value, success, and how we relate to each other?
And what if the economic system I'd grown up with wasn't the only option—or even the best one?
In The Serviceberry: Abundance and Reciprocity in the Natural World, Kimmerer presents two radically different approaches to organizing our lives and communities: the market economy (which most of us know intimately) and the gift economy (which might sound foreign but is actually all around us).
Understanding these two systems has changed how I think about everything—especially what it means to build sustainable creative communities.
If you've ever wondered why the creative world can feel so exhausting and competitive, or if you've sensed there might be a better way to support artists and writers, these concepts are going to be eye-opening.
The Market Economy: The Water We Swim In
Let's start with what we know. The market economy is like the air we breathe—so pervasive that we rarely notice it's there. It's shaped how most of us think about success, relationships, and even creativity without us realizing it.
How Market Economy Actually Works
The Scarcity Story
Here is the story the market economy tells us: there isn't enough to go around. Not enough jobs, not enough readers, not enough success. Someone else's win means your loss. If another author gets the book deal, that's one less opportunity for you.
Growing up in a hyper-capitalistic culture, we absorb this story like a fact equivalent to the law of gravity. It bakes competition—not cooperation--into everything we do.
In school, if someone else got an A, it made my B+ feel like a failure. In my career, I found myself feeling weirdly competitive about things that didn't even affect me directly. Another designer's success somehow felt like it diminished my own potential.
This scarcity mindset creates a constant state of urgency and anxiety. We're always looking over our shoulders, always trying to stay ahead, always afraid we're falling behind.
The Accumulation Game
In market economy thinking, success equals stuff. The more you own—money, followers, awards, recognition—the more successful you are.
I remember early in my business, I was obsessed with vanity metrics. How many website visitors? How many social media followers? How many projects in my portfolio?
The goal becomes accumulating as much as possible while giving away as little as necessary.
We hoard opportunities, contacts, and even information because sharing them might somehow diminish our own advantage. After all, if someone else is winning, we must be losing. Right?
Everything's a Transaction
Perhaps most tellingly, the market economy turns every interaction into a trade. We network strategically, calculating what each relationship might offer us. We think about the "return on investment" of our time and energy, even in personal relationships.
Look how normalized it has become to approach others with the mindset of "what can they do for me?" rather than "how can we support each other?"
It's transactional thinking so ingrained that we often don't even notice we're doing it.
What This Looks Like for Creatives
If you're a writer or artist, you've probably felt the weight of market economy thinking without naming it.
You've felt the pressure to constantly produce content, to always be "on," to treat your creativity like a faucet that can be turned on whenever you need content. And in this day and age, it’s expected to be turned on full blast all the time.
No wonder we’re all exhausted.
I've watched talented writers burn out not because they stopped loving stories, but because they were trying to succeed in a system that treated them like content-generating machines rather than human beings with finite creative energy.
Writers compete for the same readers, the same shelf space, the same opportunities. Success is measured primarily through sales numbers and follower counts. If your book doesn't hit certain metrics, it's considered a failure, regardless of how meaningful it might be to the people who do read it.
It's no wonder so many creative people feel depleted and discouraged.
We’re not failing at creativity—we’re exhausting themselves trying to succeed within an economic framework that works against the very conditions that nurture art.
The Gift Economy: A Different Story Entirely
Now here's where Kimmerer blew my mind. She introduced me to economic thinking that's been around for thousands of years but feels completely revolutionary in our market-dominated world.
The gift economy doesn't just tweak the rules of the game—it plays an entirely different game.
How Gift Economy Actually Works
Abundance Is the Starting Point
Instead of beginning with "there's not enough," the gift economy starts with "there's plenty to go around."
This doesn't mean resources are infinite—it means that in a community-based culture, sharing creates more value than hoarding, and there are enough resources to go around.
When I first encountered this idea, I was skeptical. It sounded like wishful thinking. But The Serviceberry shared examples I could not ignore, and then I started noticing examples in my own life.
In writing communities where authors genuinely celebrate each other's successes and share their knowledge with one another, there tend to be more opportunities for everyone.
Likewise, in a Facebook group I’m blessed to be a part of, the web designers who share resources and knowledge freely tend to have more fulfilling careers than those who guard their secrets…and in doing so, shut themselves off from abundance, community, and growth.
Gifts Must Keep Moving
Here's the part that really shifted my thinking: in a gift economy, the value comes from circulation, not accumulation. A gift that's hoarded loses its power.
It's only by giving things away that they maintain their value and create more abundance.
Think about it—if you receive a wonderful piece of advice and keep it to yourself, it helps only you. But if you share it with others, it multiplies. The advice becomes more valuable, not less, because it's being shared.
Relationships Are the Real Currency
This one might be my favorite, as it's transformed how I think about success.
In a gift economy, your wealth isn't measured by your bank account—it's measured by your relationships and your reputation for generosity.
The more you give, the more connected you become to your community. The more you help others succeed, the more people want to help you succeed.
It's not transactional ("I helped you, so now you owe me"), but rather ecological—healthy communities naturally support all their members.
I've seen this in action with authors who are known for their generosity. They're the ones other writers turn to for advice, the ones who get invited to collaborate on projects, the ones whose launches are supported by dozens of other authors who genuinely want to see them succeed.
Gift Economy in Real Life
You've probably experienced gift economy principles without realizing it. Think about the last time someone helped you move, or when you stayed up late helping a friend through a difficult time, or when you shared a resource with a colleague without expecting anything in return.
Indigenous communities have organized around gift economy principles for thousands of years.
In potlatch ceremonies, leaders would give away wealth to demonstrate their status and strengthen community bonds. The more they gave away, the higher their standing became.
Even in our market-dominated world, gift economy principles pop up everywhere. Open-source software exists because programmers share their code freely. Wikipedia works because thousands of people contribute knowledge without direct payment.
The best creative communities I know operate on gift economy principles, even if they don't call them that.
In my own work, I've seen the difference it makes when I approach projects from a gift economy mindset rather than a purely transactional one.
When I focus on creating lasting value for my clients rather than just delivering a product, when I connect authors with each other, when I share resources freely—those relationships become the foundation for a more fulfilling and sustainable business.
Not only that, they become the foundation for a more fulfilling and sustainable life.
The Serviceberry: Nature's Economics Lesson
Kimmerer's serviceberry tree is the perfect teacher for understanding how gift economy principles work in the real world. I love this example because it's so simple and yet so profound.
The serviceberry doesn't sit there calculating the return on investment for producing fruit. It doesn't worry about freeloading bears or demand payment from the birds that eat its berries. It just gives—abundantly, generously, trustingly.
And here's the beautiful part: this generosity isn't naive altruism. It's sophisticated economic thinking that considers the long term over the short term.
When the birds eat the berries, they spread the seeds, creating new serviceberry trees. When the bears feast on the fruit, they fertilize the forest floor, nourishing the tree's roots. The serviceberry's abundance creates abundance for the entire forest community, which in turn supports the tree's thriving.
It's economic thinking that works with natural systems instead of against them. This completely reframed how I think about success in creative communities.
What if, instead of competing for limited resources, we focused on creating abundance that benefits everyone?
The Side-by-Side Reality Check
Seeing these two systems laid out side by side really clarifies the choice we're making every day, often without realizing it:
How We Think About Resources:
Market Economy: "There's not enough for everyone, so I need to get mine first."
Gift Economy: "There's plenty when we share, and sharing creates even more."
How We Measure Success:
Market Economy: "How much do I own? How many followers do I have?"
Gift Economy: "How connected am I? How much have I been able to give?"
How We See Other People:
Market Economy: "Competitors might take what I want."
Gift Economy: "Collaborators can help create abundance for everyone."
How We Think About Time:
Market Economy: "What can I get right now?"
Gift Economy: "What can we build together over time?"
Where We Find Security:
Market Economy: "Look at the things I own and control."
Gift Economy: "Look at my beautiful relationships and community connections."
When I look at these differences, it's clear why so many creative people feel exhausted and isolated.
We're trying to build artistic communities using market economy principles that work against the very conditions that help creativity flourish.
Why This Matters So Much for Creative People
Here's why understanding these two economic models has been a game-changer for me, and why I think it could be for any creative person: it reveals that the struggles we face aren't inevitable. They're the result of trying to nurture creativity within an economic framework that works against it.
Think about what creativity actually needs to flourish: collaboration, inspiration from others, time to reflect and develop ideas, intrinsic motivation, supportive community. These are all gift economy values.
But the market economy pushes us toward individual competition, constant productivity, external validation, and quantifiable metrics.
No wonder so many artists and writers feel burnt out and disconnected from their original passion for creating.
The gift economy offers a framework that aligns with how creativity actually works. Ideas build on other ideas. Artists inspire each other. The best creative communities are those where people genuinely support each other's work without keeping careful score.
I've seen this transformation happen in real time with the authors. When we shift from thinking "I need to beat other writers" to "I want to contribute to a thriving literary community," everything changes.
We become more generous, more collaborative, and paradoxically, more successful in meaningful ways.
Finding a Way Forward That Actually Works
Now, before you think I'm suggesting we all abandon money and live in communes (though if that's your thing, more power to you!), let me be clear: Kimmerer isn't advocating for completely replacing market economy principles. She recognizes that we live in a world where people need to pay rent and buy groceries.
Instead, she's pointing toward integration—finding ways to weave gift economy principles into our market-dominated world.
It might mean maintaining the practical aspects of market economy (getting paid fairly for our work, building sustainable businesses) while embracing gift economy principles in how we relate to each other and our communities.
What would this look like practically?
Maybe it's choosing collaboration over competition when possible. Maybe it's sharing resources and opportunities freely, trusting that abundance creates more abundance. Maybe it's measuring success not just by sales figures but by the depth of relationships and the positive impact on our creative communities.
The revelation from The Serviceberry is that we have choices about how we organize our communities and relationships. We can choose abundance over scarcity, reciprocity over extraction, and collaboration over competition.
These aren't just nice ideals—they have the power to transform how we experience creative work and how we build sustainable, fulfilling careers as artists and writers.
Understanding these two economic models gives us the foundation for imagining new ways of supporting creative communities. It's like realizing you've been trying to grow a garden in concrete when rich soil was available all along. Once you understand the alternatives, you can't go back to the old way of thinking.
For me, grasping these concepts was the key to envisioning author communities that operate more like serviceberry forests—abundant, reciprocal, and sustainably generous—rather than resource extraction sites where creativity gets mined until it's depleted.
If you're feeling exhausted by the creative hustle, or if you've sensed there might be a better way to support artists and writers, these economic frameworks offer both explanation and hope. They show us that our struggles aren't personal failures—they're symptoms of operating within systems that don't serve creativity well.
And more importantly, they point toward alternatives that could change everything.
