We Turned Off the Lights and Hid in the Bedroom on Halloween
We Turned Off the Lights and Hid in the Bedroom on Halloween
Two years running.
Lights off at the front of the house. Both of us in the bedroom watching a movie, volume low, because there's no window back there anybody could see in through. Jana checked.
Kids ringing a doorbell at a dark house. Us, hiding, hoping nobody could tell.
I coach people for a living on building a life they feel lucky to live and I spent the last two Halloweens pretending not to be home.
We used to live in a cul-de-sac
And it was effortless there. That's the part that gets me.
Every other Friday, minimum, everybody would end up in somebody's driveway with a drink. Nobody organized it. There was no group chat and no calendar invite. It just happened, the way weather happens.
Bobby would bring out a didgeridoo. I assumed it was a bit, that he'd bought one and couldn't play it and it was going to be funny for about four minutes.
He could play it. Well. I still chuckle when I think about that mischievous look on his face when he brought it out to play for us the first time.
Bobby Kidd died in 2022, suddenly, at 56. Army before I knew him, then a long run in resort sales where he ended up training other people to sell, mostly because he could hold a room without trying. He was the best storyteller on that street and it wasn't close.
So that cul-de-sac isn't a thing I'm nostalgic about in general. It's a specific set of people, and one of them isn't there anymore.
And some nights I'd pull into the garage and want to hit the button and disappear, because it had been a long day and I did not want to be seen. And somebody would text. Come on out.
One of them once texted me "how long does it take to poop."
So I'd change my clothes and go out there, and I was always glad I did. Every single time. There is no recorded instance of me regretting going out to the driveway.
The argument with yourself
Jana does this out loud now, which I appreciate, because it makes it harder for either of us to pretend it isn't happening.
She gets home and there's a whole negotiation. She'd rather stay in and do art. But it'd be good to see people. But she'd have to put makeup on. But she likes those people. But the yoga pants are right there.
She says it can run for an hour and it's exhausting on its own, before she's gone anywhere or not gone anywhere.
And when she makes herself go, even for thirty minutes, even just for a coffee, she comes back glad every time.
Every time. Both of us. A hundred percent hit rate on going, and we still argue about it every week.
The part about using each other for everything
Here's the one that actually concerns me.
Jana's my partner. She's also my best friend, my colleague, my business partner, the person I vent to, the person I process things with, the person I make plans with, and most of my social calendar.
That's a lot of jobs for one person.
Jana says she's read that a lot of people are doing this now, and then said she wasn't going to give me statistics because she'd probably make them up. Which I respect. Ninety-seven percent of statistics are made up, including that one.
But what I've noticed at our house doesn't need a study.
When we're each other's whole world, we start becoming the same person. We have the same conversations, because neither of us has been anywhere the other one wasn't. Same information in, same conversation out. And then a Tuesday sounds exactly like the Tuesday before it.
It's not that anything's wrong between us. It's that we've stopped bringing anything home.
| The job | What happens when it's all one person |
|---|---|
| The person you vent to | They're also in the situation, so there's no outside view available. |
| The person you think out loud with | You've both got the same information, so you arrive at the same place. |
| Your whole social calendar | Nobody brings anything new home, because nobody went anywhere. |
| Your only source of being heard | One person carries a load that used to be spread across six. |
What new people actually do
We were in a small group Saturday and a guy who'd never been in anything like it said something I keep thinking about.
He said just being in the room had his brain firing. He didn't have the vocabulary for it, his words. Said he felt stimulated and couldn't fully explain it, and that he was excited about what might come next in his life.
He hadn't done anything. He sat there and listened to people talk about what they were working on.
I know this happens. I've built a business on it. But hearing somebody describe it for the first time, without the language for it, was better than any explanation I'd give you.
That's what you're missing on the nights you stay in. Not the socializing. The raw material.
Work of art
One of my coaches years ago used to say whoa. Spelled W-O-A. Work of art.
His point was that life is a work of art and you're the one painting it, so nothing that happens to you is a mistake. It's all paint.
The part I've hung onto: every new conversation puts another color on the palette. You can't paint with colors you don't have. Sit at home long enough and you're working with about four, and everything you make starts looking the same.
Which, again, is what happens at our house when we don't leave it.
Life is a relationship business
Jana says that one's Jim Rohn's and I'll take her word for it.
Every opportunity you'll ever get is currently sitting inside somebody else's head. That's just where they live. Nobody's opportunity is in your house, on your couch, at nine o'clock on a Tuesday.
And Zig Ziglar had the version Jana grew up quoting in fourth grade, which is that you can have everything in life you want if you'll just help enough other people get what they want.
Neither of those works from the bedroom with the lights off.
If you've been out of it a while
One more thing, and it's for anybody reading this who hasn't just been skipping Halloween but has genuinely drifted out of having people in their life.
You don't fix that by accepting a dinner invitation. The gap is too wide and the first attempt goes badly, and then you've got evidence.
Start smaller than feels reasonable. There's a ladder below.
And the part that matters most is at the bottom of it. The first few will be awkward. You'll say something odd, or somebody won't pick up what you put down, or you'll drive home running it back. That is not proof of anything. It's what being out of practice feels like, and it feels identical to being bad at it, which is the whole trap.
Living Lucky® Practice
Getting Back Out There
Seven rungs, smallest first. Do them in order. Don't skip to five because four sounds easy, and don't do two in a day to catch up.
Nobody is watching this but you.
Coffee shop, library, park bench, gym. Twenty minutes. No conversation required and none expected. You are getting used to the room.
What happened
With a cashier, a barista, whoever. Do the transaction, then add one sentence that isn't part of it. Comment on the weather if you have to. This is a rep, not a connection.
What happened
Somebody you already half know. A neighbor, someone at the gym, a person at church. One question about them. Then listen and leave.
What happened
The next invitation you'd reflexively decline, accept it. Don't evaluate whether you want to go. You already know the answer and it's wrong.
What happened
You'll feel the moment you're ready to leave. Stay a bit longer. Almost everything good happens after the first wave of wanting to go.
What happened
Text one person with a specific day, time, and place. Not "we should get together sometime." A day and a time.
What happened
Two people. Doesn't have to be dinner. Coffee on a Saturday morning counts. Your house doesn't need to be ready and neither do you.
What happened
When one of them goes badly
Some of these will be awkward. You'll say something strange, or somebody won't pick it up, or you'll drive home replaying it. That is not evidence. That is what being out of practice feels like, and it feels exactly the same as being bad at it.
The story that shows up next sounds like: this is why I stopped. Recognize that sentence. It arrives on schedule and it is always early.
So write it down instead of concluding something from it.
The one that went badly, and what I decided it meant:
What else could it have meant:
Then do the next rung anyway. One bad rep does not undo the others, and nobody gets a clean run at this.
The Living Lucky® Practice
Exercise: put one thing on the calendar this week that requires leaving the house and involves at least one person who isn't in your household.
Reflection question: when did I last come home from something social and regret going?
Journal prompt: who is doing all the jobs in my life that used to be spread across several people?
Action: go outside when you get home tomorrow instead of straight into the house. Stand in the driveway for ten minutes. See what happens.
Frequently asked questions
Why does staying home feel easier even when going out is better?
Because the cost of leaving is immediate and specific, and the benefit is vague until you're there. Your mind compares getting dressed right now against an unspecified good time later, and right now always argues louder.
Is it a problem if my spouse is my main social outlet?
It can be, and the tell is repetition. When neither of you goes anywhere separately, you bring the same material home, and conversations start looping. It isn't a sign anything's wrong between you. It's a supply problem.
How much social contact does it actually take?
Less than people think. Thirty minutes and a coffee counts. Consistency matters more than duration, and a short regular thing beats a big occasional one.
What happened to neighborhood community?
It used to be structural. People were outside, doors were open, and gathering didn't require a decision. Most of that structure is gone, so the thing that used to happen by itself now has to be scheduled, which feels wrong and works anyway.
Why do new conversations make me think differently?
You can only work with the material you've been given. Sitting with people who are doing different things puts information in front of you that you couldn't have generated alone, and your mind starts connecting it to things you're already working on.
Does any of this actually create luck?
Opportunities are held by people. Referrals, introductions, information, and the conversation that changes your mind are all sitting inside somebody else right now. The more rooms you're in, the more of them you're near.
We went deeper on this on the Living Lucky® Podcast, Season 11, Episode 33.
We Create Our Luck®.
For Bobby Kidd. 1965 to 2022. He could actually play it.
