Ode to Burnsville Center
April 2nd, 2024
It might be impossible to describe how it felt to be inside the Burnsville Center when I was a kid; what the Mall meant to us who grew up during its height.
But I'm going to try.
These feelings came up strong today when I took my kid there to burn off some excess spring break energy. We live right next door. To be honest, these deeply nostalgic feelings come up every time I step on that carpet I don't think has been replaced since before I was born.
I'm from Faribault. Visiting Burnsville (specifically, the Mall and Shinders) was both a unforgettable highlight of my childhood and a formative time for the me who became the me that I am. I'm nothing less than absolutely certain the reason I moved here after graduating high school is because of those magical spaces.
And that magic was brilliant but ephemeral. I do not reject the idea that money, capitalism and consumerism has warped our fragile human minds beyond their best design, but being at the Mall was so much more than that.
It was the people; it was experiencing the microcosm of society in one building that showed me the workings of the endless universe itself. It was the discovery; there was a bookstore, an arcade, a movie theater and several entertainment stores, where I discovered things before the internet as we know it existed, like niche magazines and obscure films on VHS and anime outside of Pokémon. It was the energy; chaotic and colorful and proof that humanity was here, alive, before I existed, and would be here, alive, when I am gone.
But, really, it was the potential. The potential of what we can become, together, and the frequent realization of that potential.
I know it's become low-hanging fruit by now, but the Burnsville Center is not this anymore. It's mostly empty. It's eerie but not horrific, sad but not depressing. And it isn't depressing for the same reason I feel the Mall had such a hold on me in my youth:
It still has potential.
Just as the countless memories that flood my mind like butter on a baked pretzel seemed like they belonged solely to the past, I saw new memories being made. I made new memories with my kid.
I saw pockets of community everywhere. A barbershop. Some independent clothing stores and restaurants. One of my favorite comic shops, Mind's Eye, is re-opening there. There's a skatepark on the second floor! For real!
We spend more and more time on our screens and the results are in: our mental health and overall well-being is worse than ever, and we've never been lonelier despite our constant connection. The same internet that, with its "convenience," drove us away from cultural centers like malls has made us more narcissistic, has driven division to never-before-possible mass extremes, and has been a general bummer, serving us bad vibes and even worse comments. We don't see eye-to-eye because we never have to see anybody's pupils.
I think -- I hope -- that if enough of us can not only recognize what the "digital revolution" is taking from us, but take action to balance the real world against it, we will have places to go and gather. We need them. And we'll get to experience that microcosm, this personal society made up of people, face-to-face again. The brilliance, the energy, the potential of humanity.
And maybe we can replace the carpets.