Halloween is a big deal here in the States. Kids clamor to dress up, far too many adults do likewise, and homes are festooned with plastic fake skeletons and gravestones and makeshift ghosts made of sheets and whatnot. Grocery stores sell industrial-size bags of candy, and McDonald’s swaps its Happy Meal boxes for spooky buckets.
Just to be clear: I’m not a Halloween scold. It’s a fun tradition where kids get to play, be with their friends, and actually learn valuable social skills by knocking on doors, interacting politely, and getting a fun-size chocolate bar in return (now and then, someone hands out real deal chocolate bars, and word travels so quickly they’re cleaned out within minutes).
My problem is with Halloween’s evolution. My youngest son’s school tomorrow has a “trunk or treat,” which are increasingly ubiquitous and as transactional as they sound. Instead of being with friends in the evening and trick or treating around a neighborhood, kids literally walk through the school parking lot in daylight hours, collecting candy from cars lined up like sugar vending machines.
One reason these trunk or treat events have become popular is logistical: as more and more Americans live in single-family homes, it’s tough for kids to walk door-to-door in some neighborhoods (as an aside, the Washington Post had an article this week on why the country should embrace townhouses). There’s also the usual unfounded paranoia about safety, with a big side order of helicopter parenting.
Yet it strikes me that Halloween is generally just reflecting society’s drive to optimize efficiency. All Hallow’s Eve used to represent the start of the observance of Allhallowtide, the “time in the liturgical year dedicated to remembering the dead.” For the vast, vast majority of people, the rites associated with that tradition are long gone—today, it’s about hoovering up as much candy as possible, in the shortest amount of time.
In the same way, Christmas has morphed for most from a celebration of the birth of Christ into a present grab. While Valentine’s Day remains rooted in the notion of expressing love, it’s buried by consumerism (flowers? Presents? Chocolates? Dinner? All of the above?) and, for many, trying to cram into a single day what should be a year’s worth of romance and intimacy.1
Consumerism feeds into major holidays and events, no doubt. It’s a running joke how early stores here start flogging Valentine’s Day tat, which morphs into Easter, which turns into July 4, which becomes Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and then the cycle repeats. One example: Starbucks began selling its autumn-oriented pumpkin spice latte on August 22 this year. Apparently, it’s also a summer drink?
But the trunk or treat phenomenon feels all about efficiency. Prepping kids to go trick or treating, walking the neighborhood with family and friends, interacting with your community … I mean, who has time for that? It reminded me of an article
posted a couple of weeks ago, where she noted what Italians were teaching her about the art of rest, recovery, and generally not rushing through life.“While in the US many people lose their minds if they have to wait five minutes for something, it’s the expectation in Italy is that everything will take a minute,” she wrote, having earlier noted how “an over-emphasis on efficiency is corrosive.”
This notion that we should prioritize efficiency for no reason other than society (or capitalism) thinks we should was rattling around my brain when I saw a post on LinkedIn about working from home. As more and more companies require workers return to offices, this person noted how much more productive they were working from home. Comments poured in, most declaring something along the lines of “I get so much more done at home without the distractions of being in an office.”
As someone who’s primarily worked from home for the past decade, I can vouch for the benefits of the flexibility it provides, for sure. But productivity? I’m not so sure—there are way more distractions at home than in an office. Nor am I sure why or when squeezing out the most work possible became a desirable objective. I’m not averse to hard work. But surely—surely—there’s more to life than spending every day gunning at 100 miles an hour.
The biggest joys of working in an office have nothing to do with work. It’s bonding with colleagues over managerial stupidity. Gossiping about reality television. Slipping out to grab coffee and a pastry. Being a shoulder for coworkers to cry on, or finding a sympathetic ear. For me, these critical social interactions create an environment where people can be vastly more “productive.” It’s healthier too.
Still, my littlest guy will tomorrow drown in candy from the trunk or treat. But what he and his brother really need is far less efficient but infinitely more valuable: the opportunity to enjoy Halloween with their friends, creating memories from who they’re with and what they do. It’s a lesson I’d do well to remember myself.
Note: The image accompanying this post is by Martin Deja of Getty Images.
A note about whatever this is …
After writing a few thousand articles for newspapers and magazines, I spent a long time trying a bunch of other stuff. I guess I figured what came (relatively) easily must by definition be less valuable, so I wandered in the corporate wilderness, becoming increasingly frustrated and doing work that felt increasingly lousy.
Sometimes with age comes wisdom, and I’ve realized finding something (relatively) easy ain’t a bad thing. So, this is a space where I’m resurrecting writing for myself, on topics weird and wild and wonderful.
Posts will appear when the mood takes me, but I do try to be consistently inconsistent—sometimes it’ll be a couple of days between drinks; sometimes a week. But if you subscribe, you’ll get a email letting you know I’m ranting. Again.
If you want to stretch the metaphor, the looming US Presidential election has evolved from a considered, solemn process for carefully and thoughtfully exercising one’s right to choose their leaders into a divisive clown car of tribal retribution.
So much resonated here, Luke. It feels like efficiency could just as easily be subbed out for constriction, or even restriction. And the more we tighten up, driven by fear, deadlines, and bottom lines, the less we - or our kids - get to fully experience life.