My sixth halloween.

Hezah, 26

I have begun to file Halloween away with the other “holidays” that cause me to groan and grumble. As I get older, I have started to feel the same sense of distaste for the weekend of Halloween, as I do about New Year’s. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no curmudgeon; I love seeing children dress up, the color orange, and having a reason to get spooky with your bad self. I just can’t stand the pressure that surrounds the holiday as an adult.

There is so much expectation put upon this once children’s-only holiday. For three weeks, you have to endure a barrage of people asking you what you will be dressing up as and what parties you will be attending. The extreme Halloween hype makes me not want to engage in any of it. Do I really need one day of the year as an excuse to get creative, dress up, or go party with friends?

Maybe it’s because I was a part of a sorority in college (I KNOW) and we had about one costume party a month. Or perhaps it’s because I attend so many birthday parties (many of them creatively themed) a year, that I don’t feel the need to dress up as a “sexy inanimate object” with the rest of the country. I suppose I’ve always been a little contrary, even when I was a small child. Only children tend to veer towards individualism. Still, I can’t help but think that Halloween should be left to children. It makes me feel like we are just a bunch of big kids who don’t want to grow up, except instead of trick or treating we booze.

(Oh dear Lord, denim mini skirts.)

This year was no different. I have spent the entire month fielding the usual suspect questions regarding costume and plans, eyes rolling the whole time. I can barely plan my night, let alone a whole weekend a month in advance. I also have a very hard time with “planned fun.” You know, those nights you impose high expectations for no reason.

New Year’s and birthdays make me feel the same way. I think we all regularly stay up until midnight, and by now we know, nothing really spectacular happens at that magical hour, so wearing a sequin dress in a fancy club party seems horrible compared to being at home LIKE EVERY OTHER NIGHT. Birthdays happen every year, and you always expect them to be this ethereal day where everything is just right, and everyone sings your praises. Yes there is a little of that, but it’s just like any other day. This is why many birthdays end in tears (speaking to girls).

Let me reel this tirade back to last night, the Saturday before Halloween. Not having any plans (gasp! Feel sorry for me!), my best friend and I decided to go out to dinner, and have a drink because no fabulous parties or invitations had been thrown our way. After finishing our meal, the place was dead and we were turning into old ladies so we went home. Shortly after settling into my jammies, another friend invited me to tag along to some parties with her. It was a completely reasonable hour, 11pm, to invite a gal out for the night, but I just couldn’t get off the couch. One glass of wine in and I was done for the night.

I had an internal struggle, trying to convince myself I was NOT tired and that I should get back in my clothes and get out of the damn house. I’m not getting any younger! I feel like this battle with myself has become increasingly more frequent, even on those non-hyped up holiday nights. However, this being a BIG weekend and all, I felt even more of guilt for staying home. It’s sort of bizarre to think about feeling guilt over choosing HBO over warm PBR and small talk, but it’s exactly how I felt, like I let myself down. This is silly.

Every time I am faced with the decision to go out or not, I feel like that Gwenyth Paltrow movie, Sliding Doors. Whatever decision I make, I wonder what the outcome of the other would have been. Inevitably I will think the other choice was the right one, and that I fucked up. Like this morning, I had a pit in my stomach, thinking I had missed out on the BEST night ever. In reality, had I gone, I probably would have had conversations on auto-pilot with people I’d never speak to again and wished I had stayed in bed watching Felicity. Even though the rational part of my brain knows this truth, I still wonder.

You can’t plan a fun night; they just happen when you least expect it. I find this to be more and more true as I morph further into my adult self.

Ironically, I think I’ll spend my twenty-sixth Halloween, much the same as my sixth. Candy, scary movies, and friends.