Trying Something Other Than Me--Halloween Choices

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If I were to dress up this Halloween, what would I be?

Not because I am going to dress up, or typically do on this annual occasion, but the thought experiment has me wondering. What would it be like to knock on doors, a sixty-year-old woman, asking for candy, dressed as my alter ego? It all depends on the costume.

I begin with an online search to scout out my options. Obviously, I could construct whatever costume I wanted, but let’s pretend I’m lazy and choose to let a manufacturing line do that for me. What catches my eye, and why?

A giant banana. If I see nothing else that speaks of the true me, this will win. I eat a banana every morning for breakfast. I slather it with my concoction of nut-seed butter. I have my morning pills and coffee. I then set off to live the next 24 hours, ready and willing. My banana ritual is one of my great loves. Not only could I pull off this costume because I love bananas, but since the word “bananas” also means nutso, wacky, and out-there — well, I’ll leave it there.

Would the people greeting me wonder why a middle-aged lady was at their door as an oversized banana? Would they be concerned for my welfare? If they were concerned, would they give me extra candy? These are the questions I’m asking.

Bigfoot/Sasquatch. I see possibility here. Not because I love Bigfoot, but because as a child I was terrified of it. I’d learned of the creature from the esteemed gadget: TV. At night, I’d shiver in my bed with fear when I heard dogs barking in the distance at the farm down the road. I knew with a child’s certainty the dogs were barking at Bigfoot, who was wandering around looking for me.

I can picture myself in this costume, shivering in fear, just a little, for old time’s sake. I’d ring the doorbell of an unsuspecting homeowner, waiting to say, “Trick or treat,” only to be scared out of my wits when the door opened and I noticed the terrified look on the face of the person at the door.

“Why is an adult trick-or-treating as Bigfoot?!” they’d be wondering, while I’d be thinking, “Why is this person scared of me?!” Then I’d see my giant paw waving hello. I’d freak out, bolt, trying to escape this terrifying creature — who happened to be me. All this without any procurement of candy, which is sad, no?

Witch. There are scads of witch costumes out there. Take your pick. I’d be a decent witch. Witchcraft, according to Wikipedia, is generally thought to involve malevolent magic, which I adhere to and would practice well. Point in case. It appears the two or three automobile owners in my area who shun their mufflers clearly embrace the goodness of all-consuming noise. As they drive, my ears explode. They are consumed by the beauty and rightness of the extraordinary decibel level they’ve created. They fly by my house on the hilly road, sharing this goodness with all.

I, the malevolent witch, would slice the air in front of me with my evil wand and cast my spell on said auto owners. Thus, silence would befall the region — no ears exploding, mufflers for all. Frankly, I wouldn’t even need a costume for this, as long as I had the wand. If I were a witch for Halloween, my neighbors would thank me. People would be able to hear me say, “Trick or treat!” when they opened their doors. I’d get candy.

Minion. Walking around at night in a minion costume, through neighborhoods I don’t know, acting the part, questioning nothing, would be just the kind of vacation from myself I could use. I value the high curiosity that lives inside me. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Yet, if I were to imagine what a true vacation might look like — not one that involves an airplane, passport, hotel, or tour guide — then existing in a take-it-for-granted costume with a do-what-you-tell-me mindset might be just the thing.

Plus, being a minion would get me a fair amount of candy from the doors of strangers. Minions are the adorable creatures that remind us, “Don’t take things for granted,” because the minions daftly did. But curiosity, constant questioning, searching for the foundational truths, obsessing about connecting the dots — it takes a lot of energy. If you’ve never seen the Minions movie, you can see how hilarious they are on YouTube. What would it be like to exist without wonder? I don’t want to know. I think it would stink. But just for one night, wandering about asking for free candy, not worrying or trying or persisting, just holding out my hand with the pillowcase wide open, expecting — that sounds like a pause in the name of fun. At least I’d learn what it’s like to not question, and if I did, I’d learn how grateful I am that I do.

Vampire. I wouldn’t want to suck your blood, as that sounds excessively creepy and like a well-documented health hazard. Instead, I’d suck your upbeat attitude when mine slopes downward. I’d see you there, cheerful in the distance, and flap my bat wings, take flight, landing right in front of you. Then, I’d sink my oversized incisors into your mirth. Slurp.

As a well-trained vampire should, I’d leave you there for the remainder of the day to slug on without your upbeat attitude. The only problem is that your good cheer would be gone, and I’d have no one to act as a role model for how to pull myself up, which I’d need to do because one doesn’t gain consistent happiness through a single incisor-led slurp. They learn to self-generate it through awareness and skill.

This all leads me to Mango, a Doberman Pinscher, my favorite of all the neighborhood dogs. Poor Mango. Apparently, he’s not a fan of the hat that goes with his Halloween pumpkin costume, and all I want to do is tell him how it’s supposed to be.

Mango, we aren’t supposed to love our costumes. We’re supposed to try our hand at an identity we might discover is one we’re glad we don’t possess. If I dress as a giant banana, I’ll discover I’m glad I’m not breakfast. If I’m Bigfoot, I’ll learn that I choose being human over monster. Every time I’m a witch, I’ll agree that spells are best left to muffler manufacturers. Dressing as a minion reminds me how much I love my wondering mind. And every time I’m a vampire, all I’ll want to do is brush my teeth and put my night mouthguard in.

Mango, wear that hat. Put it on, embody the life of a squash. You’ll learn how happy you are to be you. And, maybe, just maybe, your parents will dress you as a minion next year. I would love that. Now, let’s go get us some candy.

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Happy Halloween, all!