I always loved Halloween as a child. There was something magical about deciding who you wanted to be, creating the image in your mind, putting on that costume, and then walking right out the door as if you had become that person.
For one night, you could be anyone.
There was a freedom in it. Running from house to house with friends, laughing until our sides hurt, carrying pillowcases that grew heavier with every stop. We weren’t worried about tomorrow or wondering whether we were doing enough. We weren’t questioning whether someone needed something from us. We were simply there—joyful, fearless and carefree.
As it should be when you’re a child. But life sometimes makes other plans.
We grow up. Responsibilities arrive. People need us. Careers, families, relationships, caregiving, loss, worry and all the ordinary demands of being human begin to shape our days. Little by little, without even realizing it, we can become so accustomed to being who everyone else needs us to be that we lose touch with the person underneath it all.
We wear different kinds of costumes now. The capable one. The caregiver. The problem solver. The dependable one. The person who says, “I’m fine,” because there isn’t time to explain everything that isn’t fine. We become so good at playing these roles that sometimes we forget to ask ourselves a very simple question:
Who am I underneath all of this?
Perhaps an even more important question is: Am I listening to my own spirit?
Not the voice telling you what you should be doing. Not the endless list running through your head. Not the expectations of other people. Your spirit—the quieter voice inside that knows when you’re tired, when something no longer feels right, when you need rest, when you miss something you once loved, or when you’re longing for something you can’t quite name.
That voice doesn’t usually shout. It whispers. Maybe it asks you to step outside and feel the sun on your face. To pick up the paintbrush, journal, book or gardening gloves you’ve neglected. To call someone who makes you laugh. To say no when you’ve always said yes. Or perhaps simply to sit quietly long enough to remember what it feels like to be you.
There is something beautifully ironic about Halloween. As children, we put on costumes and somehow felt freer. As adults, perhaps the invitation is to begin taking a few of ours off.
You don’t have to abandon the people you love or the responsibilities you carry. You don’t have to reinvent your life. You simply need to make a little room for yourself inside it.
So, this October, amid the pumpkins, costumes and memories of Halloweens past, give yourself a quiet moment and ask:
What has my spirit been trying to tell me?
Then pause.
Breathe.
And listen.
You may recognize a voice you haven’t heard in a very long time.
And it may sound wonderfully like you.
Hugs,
Cyndi