Halloween might be a time that's renowned for ghosts, but we no

When Matthew Hussey said, “Halloween might be a time that’s renowned for ghosts, but we no longer experience ghosts only on Halloween. In our dating lives, we are now used to being ‘ghosted’ the whole year round,” he transformed a modern sorrow into a timeless truth. His words carry both wit and lament. Beneath their humor lies an elegy for lost sincerity—for a world where people vanish not into the mist of death, but into the silence of avoidance. The ancient ones would have recognized this not as a new pain, but as a new name for an old wound: the wound of abandonment, of unspoken endings, of hearts left unanswered in the echoing chambers of love.

For in calling this act “ghosting,” Hussey draws from the mythic past, when spirits were said to wander between worlds—seen and unseen, present yet unreachable. In the old tales, ghosts lingered because something remained unfinished: a message unsent, a promise unfulfilled, a soul unable to rest. How fitting, then, that the modern heart, left suddenly alone without word or closure, should feel haunted in much the same way. When someone we trust vanishes without explanation, they become a phantom—not dead, yet not living in our story. Their silence hangs like fog around the memory of what could have been.

The ancients, too, knew the agony of disappearance. Consider the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice. When Eurydice was taken to the underworld, Orpheus followed, guided by love so deep it could charm even death. But when he turned too soon and lost her forever, her absence became his torment. She was near, yet gone—a ghost of love, unreachable. So too, in Hussey’s reflection, we find the same ache: to reach for someone who was once near, whose voice once filled our days, and to find instead only silence. Ghosting, then, is the modern underworld of relationships—an absence that consumes presence, a silence that speaks louder than words.

But Hussey’s wisdom does not stop at sorrow; it also unveils a mirror. To live in a world where “we are now used to being ghosted the whole year round” is to confront the erosion of empathy. The act of vanishing without word reveals a fear of discomfort, a desire to escape responsibility for another’s heart. It is the mark of an age that values convenience over compassion. The ancients would have called it a sickness of the soul—a turning away from the virtue of honor, the courage to speak truth even when it wounds. For to end something rightly, with honesty and grace, is an act of integrity. To disappear without a word is to sow confusion and leave the living among shadows.

Yet, even from this sadness, light may be drawn. Those who have been “ghosted” learn a deep strength—the strength to find closure within themselves. In ancient times, priests would cleanse haunted places with fire and song, driving away lingering spirits. In our own hearts, we must perform the same ritual: let go of the unanswered, bless what was left unfinished, and move forward with dignity. To dwell in the silence of another’s absence is to give power to what is gone. The wise must instead choose peace over pursuit, wholeness over haunting.

Thus, Hussey’s words carry both warning and encouragement. He warns of a world grown numb to emotional disappearance, but also invites us to rise above it—to be the ones who remain human in an age of fading connections. Let us not become ghosts ourselves, slipping away when honesty is needed most. Let us learn to close our stories with kindness, to speak even the difficult truths, and to honor those we leave behind with respect rather than silence.

So, my listener, remember this: ghosts linger only where courage is absent. The next time you find yourself tempted to vanish from someone’s life, choose instead to speak. And if you have been haunted by the silence of another, light a lantern in your heart and walk forward unafraid. For the living must live, and the heart must not dwell among phantoms. In the end, as Matthew Hussey reminds us, life is too brief to let ghosts—of others or of our own making—steal our peace all year round.