Life Is Like a TJ Maxx

Recently, I found myself inside a TJ Maxx on Wall Street, doing a little shopping. I’ve been searching for a new long, flowy skirt for the summer and thought I might find one there.

The store was bigger than I expected. That’s always the surprise in New York—how a place can look modest from the outside, only to stretch deep and wide once you step through the door. Somehow, every square inch gets used—but that’s a story for another time.

Now, I’m not a big shopper. I lose patience quickly. Most stores don’t carry the exact look of something I’ve imagined in my mind—something I’ve created and refined in my head. So, you can imagine how overwhelming it feels to walk into a store saturated with everything and nothing all at once. My daughter and husband are great at sifting through it all. Me? Not so much.

But while I was there, I did find a skirt. It was the right length (a rare win for someone short like me!) and the right size. But it wasn’t cute. So, I left empty-handed.

And that’s when my analogy came to life: Life is like a TJ Maxx.

Okay, not exactly—but stay with me.

TJ Maxx is overflowing with options. Rack after rack of choices. Some beautiful, some bizarre. Some things flatter you, some elevate you. And some you try on because you’re desperate to make something work, even when it doesn’t. And sometimes, you leave with nothing.

This world is like that, too—overwhelming in its sheer volume of options, emotions, experiences, and events. Some of what’s out there lifts us. But a lot of it weighs heavily. At times, the world feels suffocating. The atrocities, the horrors, the hate—it’s a lot to hold. And I know, deeply and truly, that my experience of this weight is softened by my privilege. I will never know the full burden carried by my loved ones, friends, and family who come from historically marginalized communities.

I want you to know: I see you. I love you. I hold space for you.

The thing about shopping in a place like TJ Maxx is that the abundance can skew your judgment. You may be tempted to buy something you don’t actually want or need, just because it’s there. Just because you’re tired. Or pressured. And while regret over a shirt or skirt is one thing, regret over life decisions—how we treat each other, how we use our time and energy—is another.

So maybe the point is this:

Make a choice.
Choose love over hate.
Choose peace over violence.
Choose creation over destruction.
Choose giving over getting.

Because even in a world—or a store—full of distractions, temptations, and noise, we still get to choose who we are and what we carry out the door.