The Hula Hooper

Milwaukee is now home to a shiny new Target store not far from where I live. The sign went up a few months ago and then the store opened in late October. Apparently there was a big grand opening celebration with a local marching band lined up below an array of red and white balloons. OnMilwaukee declared “​​It was a joyous occasion for many.”

A close friend and neighbor has been, and described it as a gleaming two-story retail wonderland. She also told me about the escalator that can accommodate a shopping cart. (Side note: I used one of those in a two-story Target in Los Angeles years ago, which was a comically harrowing experience, whereupon I tried to get the cart going up the escalator, discovering just a wee bit too late that my 12-pack of toilet paper tucked beneath the main cart was going to interfere with this process. When I tried dislodging the toilet paper—and I must say I’m still not sure how this happened—I somehow ended up perilously close to being pulled up the cart escalator as I hung out of one side of the cart. I hope whoever was monitoring the in-store video surveillance system had a good laugh at my expense. I imagine he or she might have secretly wished I had not managed to escape from the shopping cart escalator entanglement, and instead had been taken for a ride to the second floor with half my body hanging out of the side of the cart. I could have topped it off with an Olympic-gymnast flourish, dismounting onto two feet and throwing my arms triumphantly in the air. But instead I got myself out of the situation almost as quickly as I got myself in it and no one else seemed to notice. For the rest of my shopping expedition, I used the elevator.)

This new fancy Target is about ten minutes south; the Target I usually go to is about ten minutes north. While it has been tempting to go see the sparkly, just-opened store, I have continued going north on 43 to do my Target shopping. I’ve been going to that store since we moved here. I know the layout and I love when I’m checked out by one gentleman in particular. He’s in his eighties, friendly, energetic, and engaging. Other customers know him too, and everyone makes a point of saying hello when they pass by his checkout aisle. It’s always a treat when I get to have a little chat with him. I always walk away from these exchanges holding onto the hope that I will be as outgoing and lively as he is three decades from now. 

I also appreciate the vast outdoor parking lot of this Target store. Parking for the new Target is primarily in a garage, and there’s something about that which just feels weird. I find parking garages to be mildly depressing and oftentimes infuriating. All the upward spiraling to find just the right spot—any spot—and then I have to figure out where the elevator is and where it is going to take me. They are gray and impersonal; anytime I can avoid them I do.

Up north, I get to see fellow shoppers as I head in and out of the store. Most of us are pretty focused—eyes on the store’s entrance, shopping list in hand—but I appreciate seeing everyone coming and going in the light of day and under a wide open sky. I never knew how much that openness meant to me until I considered the idea of having to bookend my Target shopping experiences inside a parking garage.

On my last Target trip, a few weeks ago, it was chilly and a bit overcast. After I finished, when I was pushing my cart back to my car, I had a sudden inkling to hop on the front of the cart and take it for a short ride (a much more pleasant proposition than getting inadvertently taken for a ride up an escalator intended specifically and exclusively for shopping carts, not humans.) In that instant, I hopped up and let the momentum of the cart on the asphalt carry me toward my car. 

It lasted just a few seconds, five at the most, and then I jumped off for the last few steps before arriving at the trunk of my car for unloading. Just as I got started, a woman my age walked by and said, “You just made my day! I loved seeing you ride the cart like that.” I laughed and explained that I simply felt the urge and decided to go with it, and told her I was glad she liked it. 

I smiled all the way home that day, not because I felt like I’d just changed that woman’s life or anything, but because I always appreciate those tiny affirmations that joy matters, and is contagious. I have talked and written about this for years—about how we, as individuals, have no idea what kind of impact our words, choices, and actions have on others and, in turn, the world. However far we might know something we do goes, it actually travels much farther and in ways we can’t possibly comprehend. 

I once saw a young gentleman hula hooping on the corner of a busy street right outside my favorite restaurant. If it had been possible to measure the level of joy emanating from his body I’m pretty sure it would have reached Alaska. I had the privilege of watching him perform just that once, and this was at least two years ago, before Covid. Yet here I am, still thinking about him, writing about him, and wishing (I will always wish) I had gotten his name and maybe even his email so I could send him a note from time to time to tell him how precious this memory is to me. 

Life is intense these days and most everyone I know is dealing with some Very Big Stuff. In the midst of it all, there are still ways to find and create beauty, embody and share joy, express and savor gratitude. When we create these experiences for ourselves we can’t help but create them for others, whether we realize it at the time or not. Now, more than ever, the world needs us to hunt down, latch onto, and hurtle into the world like a shot put all these things and more: beauty and joy and gratitude, kindness and wonder and grace.