Yesterday was Halloween. I didn’t watch any horror movies, binge on candy, or even commune with wicked spirits as they walked the Earth. The closest I got was my two nine year olds dressed up as a cat and a witch.
Despite its bad reputation for diabeetus and sinister pagan rituals, I’ve always enjoyed Halloween. Not for the dressing up and consumerist parts of it, which I haven’t been involved with since I was a kid.
There’s a rich and storied history behind All Hallows Eve that stretches back to All Saints Day in ancient Christian times, and before that to even older pagan celebrations of Samhain (some of which may have involved sinister rituals).
Halloween is the day when the borders between the worlds of the living and the dead soften, the other-world peeks through the crack in the door, and higher powers hit “pause” on usual flow of linear time.
I get all introspective in moments like that, even if there aren’t zombies and vampires afoot. It’s not fashionable to believe in the Unseen Realm of spirits and paranormal powers, but these days I’m inclined to be unfashionable.
That’s a topic for another day. Here’s the interesting question:
What is it about fear, dread, terror, and horror that are so captivating?
How did being scared out of our wits turn into a past-time?
Why is horror so fun?
You don’t need to believe in the supernatural to notice that people are obsessed with criminals, psychopaths, villains, bastards, and bad-boys. Every serial killer gets a bag of prison mail from his female admirers.
There’s something about fear that energizes, the way a flame attracts a moth.
Like life is so boring and repetitive that we crave anything that will break up the tedium, even if it involves a little blood and suffering.
Writers from Nietzsche to Dostoyevsky to Eric Hoffer (author of The True Believer) figure that man is the only animal that cares about his ego, causing us to live in perpetual anxieties of how others perceive us.
The idea that others might see us in ways we don’t want to be seen is more terrifying than death itself.
Vanity and status matter more than most anything.
Like so many things that terrify us, they only exist in our imaginations. And we play right along, acting like imaginary horrors are as real as a charging chainsaw murderer.
We want to play along, because many of us need an enemy to rage against.
How many things have you ever bought only because you thought other people wanted them?
How many things do you put up with in your life, not because you want them or enjoy them, but because “that’s what you gotta do”?
Yeah.
The worst part is when you realize you’re doing it and then decide to be a non-conformist. At which point you end up with being a conformist about non-conformity. This is how you get punk, rave kids, and full-sleeve tattoos.
Fear and death are wrapped up in everything we do.
Unthinking monkey-see monkey-do behaviors are a kind of “waking death”.
Hold that thought on your plate while you entertain a question:
What scares you that you won’t let go of?
When you’ve got an answer, do this one:
Are you hanging on to it because letting go scares you, or because you’re addicted to being afraid?
Your fears show you who you are.
If you’re brave, hit Reply and tell me what you came up with.
Matt Perryman
P.S. It only seems fair that I should let you know mine:
I’m terrified of everything I write because I never believe it will turn out well.