Do you have an old t-shirt that just makes you feel perfectly cozy and wonderful when you put it on?
My t-shirt’s name is Target.
Let’s get it out of the way: yes, this basically solidifies my membership in the Standard Suburban Mom Club. I don’t care.
My relationship with Target goes back to, I think, high school. They built one just a few blocks from my home outside Chicago. At the time, my sister was away at college, so I just lived with my mom. When we were at home, together, feeling a little bit bored, or gloomy, we’d look at each other and say “I think I need to go to Target.”
You don’t ever ask “for what?” because it doesn’t matter.
We would wander the aisles, fountain drink in hand, sometimes buying nothing at all, sometimes filling the cart.
After college, I moved from the Chicago burbs to Iowa for law school. I was terrified to make a fool of myself in class, I was reeling from a bad break-up, I didn’t really know where I fit in.
So I went to Target. And it looked exactly like “my” Target at home, and I felt a little bit better. And I bought multi-colored packages of highlighters and a cute laptop case and coffee.
Three years later, I graduated from law school and moved to Kansas City knowing only my soon-to-be-husband. I didn’t know a soul in town besides him, and I was terrified of the bar exam.
Again, I went to Target. In a sea of unfamiliar places, once again, I could find exactly what I needed without feeling lost. Under the hum of florescent lights, I reassured myself that it would all be OK. I bought a trash can and beer and Swiffers and even more highlighters.
We adopted our dog. I bought a collar and leash and toys. We got married. I bought thank you notes. I ran a marathon. I bought a neon tank top. We decided to try for a baby. I bought pregnancy tests.
When my sons came home from the hospital, each of their first trips in public were to Target. I knew it wouldn’t be crowded and that the weekday afternoon clientele of old ladies and stay-at-home-moms would forgive me if my baby cried. And we bought pacifiers, trail mix and diaper cream.
Sometimes life is big and scary and you don’t know which way is up anymore. Sometimes you can’t go home but you need to be reassured that something is unfailingly the same, no matter where you are. Sometimes you need a giant cherry Icee and sometimes you just need to walk around alone with your thoughts.
So, I go to Target. And I’m not ashamed.
