Last weekend, my sketch comedy group made the journey to Yale University, enjoying a scenic three-hour drive along I-91 from the nearly-bare trees of New Hampshire to the vibrant autumn foliage of New Haven, Connecticut. Upon our arrival, we were greeted by the stunning architecture of towering Gothic buildings bathed in the golden hue of early evening, with distant sirens faintly resonating through the air.
As we explored the campus, we ascended a spiral staircase to our assigned dorm—a cozy suite adorned with dark wood accents, a fireplace, and lofty ceilings. While unpacking my sleeping bag on the couch, my attention was captured by a plush bulldog in the corner, armed with a plastic knife festooned with fake blood. Scanning the room, I noticed countless bat stickers and pumpkin string lights, reminiscent of my childhood home where Halloween decorations filled every corner, from skeletons on doorknobs to eerie candy displays in the kitchen. Instantly, I felt enveloped by the festive spirit of the holiday.
Returning to my dorm in Hanover the following day, I dropped my bags and surveyed my own meager Halloween decor—a pair of plastic pumpkins from CVS resting on my dresser. Compared to the lively decorations at Yale, my dorm felt almost barren. In past years, I would eagerly include festive touches, but time and other commitments had taken precedence.
Unlike winter holidays that bombard us with cheerful music and advertisements, Halloween quietly lingers in the background. There’s little pressure to create the perfect costume; it’s a personal choice. As I got older, the urgency to participate waned—Halloween could simply involve Netflix marathons or intimate gatherings rather than large celebrations.
On Saturday night, a last-minute invite to a Halloween party prompted me to throw together a Magic 8 Ball costume using a black tank top and some leftover craft materials. However, as I arrived at the party, I was met with an array of elaborate costumes—from vampires to Spice Girls—that sparked a moment of self-reflection about when I had stopped investing in holiday preparation.
During my high school years, Halloween was marked by cherished traditions with friends, like baking cookies or sharing scary movies while carefully planning costumes. Yet at Dartmouth, where academic demands constantly vie for attention, finding time for celebratory moments feels increasingly elusive. Celebrating a holiday can often come at the cost of falling behind in schoolwork.
Reflecting on this autumn, I recognize that prioritizing small celebrations like Halloween helps ground us amid the chaos. Engaging in festive activities—whether crafting costumes or decorating—serves as a reminder to appreciate the present and embrace seasonal joys. This Halloween, I encourage you to take a moment for the festivities. Enjoy some candy, hang up decorations, or play holiday music while studying; these small choices can create joyful pockets of time in an otherwise overwhelming schedule. In the face of academic pressures, such traditions remind us of the importance of presence, allowing us to reconnect with joy during a busy term.
In essence, as students juggle studies and social commitments, intentionally carving out time to celebrate even the smallest traditions can lead to meaningful reconnecting with the joy of seasonal celebrations.