Halloween is coming...so I'm sharing a chapter of my book with you.
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Chapter 19: Who Are You?​
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Halloween is approaching. It’s become a big deal around the office. Every year, we gather for a pot-luck lunch. We carve pumpkins and play games. The fun employees wear costumes.

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One year, I dressed as an employee that had recently quit. I wore a Captain America shirt, sprayed my hair and beard black, sprinkled in some baby powder, and dropped a Mountain Dew in a reusable lunch box. As I walked in the door,

BAM

A lemon hit me square in the chest and knocked the wind out of me. As I caught my breath, I looked up to see Huck wearing a t-shirt with the Life cereal logo painted on it.

I laughed as I picked up the lemon and walked back to the kitchen to make lemonade. “Hey Emily, Westley’s here!” Huck yelled. Emily came around the corner wearing one of the huge singing telegram bear suits.

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Every year after that, I dressed up as an employee or contractor who moved on. I wore a Hawaiian shirt with my bike helmet. I threw some red paint on my jeans, grabbed a camera, and carried an ax to commemorate a photographer, who, after a life-threatening yard work accident, decided his life was too valuable to work with Stan anymore.

Each year as Halloween approached, people asked who I was going to be. I never told. It became a tradition of its own.

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One day in late spring, Huck stops at my desk and asks, “Want to grab some barbecue for lunch today? My treat.”

“You know the way to my heart.”

We head out to lunch and grab our brisket and sweet tea. Huck takes a long drink and says. “Hey man, I’ve accepted that other job. I’m turning in my resignation today.”

We’ve had several conversations about this. I ache. I knew this was coming, but it still stings. Huck’s had my back for the better part of a decade. For the first time since day one, I feel alone.

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Two weeks later, I’m standing in the parking lot with a lighter and a box of fireworks, getting ready for a redneck celebration as Huck leaves the office for the last time. I look him in the eye. “I’m proud of you, Huck!”

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A few months later, on Halloween, I walk in wearing my cowboy boots and a cattle ranch ball cap. I yell down the hall, “Get your shit off the printer!” The office erupts in laughter and applause. The rest of the day, coworkers pop in to recall stories of Huck.

“Remember when Huck fired the intern in the parking lot?”

“He went running through the office to catch her.”

“Why was he only wearing one shoe?”

“There was that time Huck had to dig a trench because a display was the wrong size.”

“Wasn’t he the one who measured the display in the first place?”

“He sure was. He measured some photo backdrops wrong that same year.”

“Why did Huck go out and organize the warehouse after management meetings?”

“That was his stress release valve.”

“One time, we plastered his office with photos of his client.”

“Didn’t you tape the client’s face over a picture of his wife?”

“Were they married yet?”

“Who was it that walked in his office and farted when he was on a call?”

“Oh yeah! I closed the door and hot-boxed him.”

On the way home, I realize—year after year, on Halloween, the day of the dead—I’m celebrating the survivors.

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Are you mourning or celebrating when people leave? Is surviving the days your goal? Do you want more? Have you ever allowed yourself to want more?

Survival is insufficient.

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I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Buy the rest of the book, Leadershit on Amazon. You know someone who needs it.

Jake

P.S. feel free to leave a review on Amazon as well.