Going to school in Chico imbued me with several habits I will
never be able to break. One of them is the monumental importance I
place on Halloween.
I don’t know if I love it because it’s a way to be catapulted
back to my youth when things were simpler, or because for one night
a year I get to be someone completely different.
Going to school in Chico imbued me with several habits I will never be able to break. One of them is the monumental importance I place on Halloween.
I don’t know if I love it because it’s a way to be catapulted back to my youth when things were simpler, or because for one night a year I get to be someone completely different.
For about a month and a half before the big night, I wrack my brain for a great costume. Years past have seen a raucous cowgirl, Barbie and even a corrupt politician – with little law enforcement figures stuffed in my pockets.
This year’s big night is fast-approaching. I’m still unsure of what persona I’ll be taking on, and I’m starting to get worried.
About a week ago, I thought I had a great costume, one my friends and family would understand completely – a grown-up.
Now that I’m out of school and on my way to maybe one day actually being a full-fledged adult, I thought it would be fun to try it out one night to see what it’s like.
Over the weekend I came to a frightening conclusion that ripped my grown-up costume to shreds before it was even constructed.
I already am a grown-up.
I spent the weekend gardening, cleaning and doing other mundane chores only grown-ups do. Everyone who doesn’t want to live in squalor has to do these things, so why was it so frightening, you ask?
I actually enjoyed doing it. Gasp, cringe.
Just a few short months ago, I would have spent my weekend languidly stretched out on the couch (probably recuperating from the night before), out shopping with friends or doing something else, well, fun.
Never in my wildest dreams would I have considered picking up the multitude of walnuts that fall on my back lawn and sweeping the dirt from my patio as being fun.
Wait, was that a pig that just flew by my window?
After coming to this conclusion, I sat down and decided to face this demon head on. Should I go with it and someday find myself driving a mini-van and listening to Vivaldi, or should I embrace my youth a little more fervently to prolong the ensuing abomination we so casually term maturity?
While I was contemplating this profound, life-altering dilemma, one of my friends from home called.
After listening to her ramble, I mean talk, about her weekend of partying and carousing and thanking my lucky stars I was past that stage in my life, I had an epiphany that quelled my earlier fears of someday living in Suburbia with 2.4 children and an unhappy marriage.
I know picking walnuts for an hour doesn’t quite match up with this huge jump to a life that I consider to closely resemble hell, but like I always say, an avalanche starts with a single snowflake. (I’ve never actually said that, but who knows, maybe one day I will.)
Back to my epiphany. I realized I can enjoy picking walnuts, sweeping my patio and mopping the floor, and still act like a child when the moment seizes me.
Unfortunately those moments seem to seize me at all the wrong times, like accidentally taking a tumble off my chair at work, which I assure you was the result of a faulty chair, not my inherent clumsiness.
Of course, I still have one problem – what to be for Halloween. I could still do a twist on the grown-up idea, or dress up as something really far out, like a reporter. It might be fun to be one of those for a day.
