There’s a HomeGoods store near my daughter’s house in Florida that is as busy as a Chik-fil-A near a grade school at 3:00. Any time of the day or week, the parking lot is jam packed. People are wheeling big carts bursting with wall paintings, vases, dishes fake plants and carpets. Its one of the busiest HomeGoods in the United States.

One of the reasons it’s so busy is because all the senior citizens who left the north and are retiring in the south got rid of all their stuff before they moved. They made a dozen trips to Goodwill, gave glasses and kink knacks away to kids, donated to charity thrift shops and tossed out a whole lot more. Then they get to Florida and walk around the empty rooms of their new condo and plot to fill it all back up again. It’s a vicious cycle.

There’s something magical–and mildly terrifying–about stepping into a HomeGoods store. One minute you’re just popping in for a candle; the next, you’re pushing a cart piled high with pillows, faux succulents, and enough wall art to open a tiny museum dedicated to vague inspirational quotes. It’s a retail jungle, and we’re all willing explorers, ready to sacrifice our dignity for a discounted ceramic pineapple.

HomeGoods on a Saturday is a cross between Black Friday and a scavenger hunt. Elbows are flying, carts are bumping, and grown adults are sprinting to grab the last fluffy throw blanket. You don’t walk through HomeGoods; you weave, you dodge, you sidestep like you’re doing the cha-cha at a wedding. The aisles are narrow, the shelves are overflowing, and somewhere in the back, a rogue cart always blocks the way, creating a traffic jam that rivals rush hour. I am at my very worst toward humanity when someone leaves a cart in the middle of an aisle.

Maybe the allure of HomeGoods lies in its mystery. You never know what you’ll find. It’s like an archaeological dig, except instead of ancient relics, you’re unearthing gold-leafed vases, oversized clocks, and a bewildering number of decorative llamas. Why llamas? Who knows. All I know is that at some point, I found myself holding a sequined llama pillow and thinking, “This could really tie my living room together.”

And let’s not even talk about the candle section. There are approximately 4,000 varieties of candles, each with a name that sounds like it was chosen by a poet after two glasses of wine: Midnight Rain, Cozy Dreams, Autumn Whisper. You sniff one, and suddenly you’re transported to a log cabin in the woods where it’s always fall, you’re always wearing flannel, and your life is beautifully uncomplicated. How could you not buy it?

It’s not just about buying things–it’s about the potential they bring to your life. That marble cheese board? It practically screams, “You’re hosting dinner parties now.” Those rustic wooden signs with words like Gather, Blessed, and Farmhouse Life? They whisper, You live in the country and bake pies, even if you don’t. Every item is a promise that your home could be more cozy, more stylish, more… Joanna Gaines-approved.

Of course, none of us need half the things we buy at HomeGoods. But that’s not the point. The point is possibility. The point is that you could need a set of six mini Dutch ovens one day. You never know when a fondue party might break out.

Even the checkout line is a gauntlet of temptation. You think you’ve escaped, but suddenly you’re surrounded by gourmet popcorn, quirky mugs, and notebooks with gilded edges. It’s retail quicksand. One minute you’re standing there with your cart, and the next you’re clutching a package of artisanal chocolate truffles you never knew you needed.

At the heart of it, though, HomeGoods isn’t just a store; it’s a community of dreamers. It’s where we all come together to imagine our best lives–lives with perfectly styled coffee tables, soft throw blankets in every room, and enough candles to light a small village. So, we keep going back, braving the chaos, knowing that somewhere among the shelves, our perfect accent chair or quirky wall clock is waiting for us.

And that, my friends, is why HomeGoods will always be packed. Not because we need another faux succulent, but because deep down, we believe our best selves are just one ceramic pineapple away.