In fourth grade, I was a hobo for Halloween. While the other kids danced around in rock star outfits and princess gowns, I wore tattered overalls and a stick with a makeshift bandana bag tied to the end of it over my shoulder, shyly standing off to the side of our spooky parade. I can’t quite remember the inspiration for this quirky costume, but I loved how different it was. And though my quiet demeanor kept me from dancing around with the skeletons and vampires that filled our class, I was content to gaze shyly on at the festivities.

Over the years, I’ve been everything from a deck of cards to a double-headed gigglewart (don’t ask), and I’ve loved every minute of it. Stereotypically, I should have been cute animals or mystical creatures like fairies or unicorns when Halloween rolled around, but for some reason I was always more drawn to made-up creatures or completely out of the blue ideas. I wanted to be different (plus my parents always wanted me to make my own costume instead of copping out with a storebought one, which further encouraged creativity). I would spend weeks planning out every detail of my costume, begging for things like spray-on hair dye and face paint to add that final touch.

Of course, the candy was always much appreciated, but it was never the main reason for my excitement. There was always something about getting to be someone (or something) else for a day that made me somewhat less afraid of the the smirking jack-o-lanterns and massive fake cobwebs stretched across doorways and windows. Not only that, but less afraid to be myself, despite the paradox that suggests. As an incredibly shy kid, wearing a cape or a funky hat was a great way to start conversations, and thus my love for completely out of the box costumes increased.

In that sense, Halloween has always been a reminder of how far I’ve come from when I was that quiet little hobo. Each year brings a new costume, along with a subtle confidence boost to put myself out there.