How to Ghost

Ghost is a verb. Ghosting is a thing you do. It’s a tool. When in doubt, ghost out. 

You’re at a party and you want to leave. You’re feeling introverted and tired, so you ghost. You grab your jacket from between the couch cushions and you leave quietly without saying goodbye. “Where’s T?” they’ll ask later. “Must have missed her,” they’ll conclude.

Urban Dictionary tells you that ghosting is “the act of disappearing on your friends without notice,” but you know it’s more than that. It’s reserving the right to change your mind and not having to provide a reason. It’s canceling without explanation. 

Ghosting leaves the other party confused, but takes the pressure off of selfish, nervous you. It’s becoming less of a stigma, which is a dream come true for the situationally shy. 

You’re in the midst of a budding relationship and suddenly you can’t stop thinking about their bad taste in music, their bad grammar, their height. You’re two weeks in. You haven’t met their mother. So you stop texting. You stop answering. You don’t provide an explanation. You ghost. 

You’re at a barbecue at your sister’s house. You’re getting drunk and you look around. Your parents are nowhere to be found and you say, “Did Mom and Dad just ghost? Who taught them that?”

You’ve been talking to that cute attorney you found on Tinder. The texting banter is fun for a few days, and then you change your mind. He sends you three messages in a row. You don’t respond. You ghost. 

You want to do the right thing. You want to check in. You want to provide a sweet, comforting, lie explanation, but you’re lazy and ghosting sounds oh, so sweet. It temps you. You fantasize about it, how easy it would be to just disappear. 

When in doubt, ghost out.