Tuesday, April 10, 2018

Stacks and Basements and the River Styx

When I was rather young, I would go to my public library (having been dropped off) and wander through the stacks; that's the term for the shelves upon shelves of books, typically not on the main floor or main area. No displays. Just very functional shelving. Shelves and shelves of books. There was rarely anyone there, certainly never any other kids. 

I liked to wander up and down the aisles, running my hand across the cool spines and gold-embossed letters. I rarely checked-out a book from that section. In fact, I don't recall ever doing so since this was basically overstock of adult fiction and non-fiction. But every trip to the library, I always climbed the stairs to the stacks.  It is amazing how being the only person amidst thousands of books is actually not lonely, but comforting.  The solitude and quiet, surrounded by this cloud of stories. Unknown. Unread. But still present.    

When I was a teenager, I used to go to that same public library (having driven myself there), check out books, and sneak down to the basement. There were large, typically unused meeting rooms where I would lie on the floor for hours in the cool and dark, and read. I doubt this could happen today with security alarms and cameras and such. But at that time, all one had to do was know which door led that way and open the door with purpose. 

Those were days when I had no place to be, no people to be with, and a desperate need to exist somewhere safe. I could have gone to the park, I suppose (full disclosure: I am not a big fan of nature), but when seeking a sanctuary, the public library was my go-to place.  

Yes, libraries are often rooms full of books, but they are a lot more than that for a lot of people. 

It is National Library Week, and that always makes me a bit maudlin.  I can't really fathom where I would be without the libraries that have dotted my path.  

At those several crucial times in my life, they have been essential as places of sanctuary.  

When I think of libraries, it is always with a sense of reverence.  
A sacredness.  
These places that serve the public good. 
Storehouses of knowledge.  
Places of refuge. 

I think back to my much younger selves and doubt that either of those versions of me could know how long-lasting the impact would be. It is as if I was being dipped repeatedly in the River Styx, strengthened, readied, prepared for life and the larger world.