Viva la library

Is the library making a cultural comeback, or is it just me?

As a kid, I saw the library as an all-you-can-eat buffet. I’d emerge from each trip with stacks on stacks of books about animals, especially coyotes, which I (correctly) thought were badass. At home, I’d sit at a table and copy animal facts onto a bright yellow legal pad. I still have no idea what I did that for, but it was fun. Maybe that was reason enough. (Did you know coyotes and badgers often hunt together?)

In the years since, the library has inexplicably dropped off my radar. I’ve spent my entire adulthood buying the books I’d like to read, then trading them in at my favorite bookstore or storing them on my shelf if I think I’ll want to read them again someday. There’s nothing wrong with this—you’ll never not catch me supporting local bookstores—except that it’s expensive. I’ve always said books are the one item I’ll happily go over-budget for, but at the same time, I don’t want to know how much I’ve spent on them over the years.

Thank goodness, then, for what appears to be an ongoing public library renaissance.

Over the last several months, my Instagram feed has been chock-full of posts from public library accounts. (@Meta: This is the only time in my life that I’ve enjoyed seeing posts from pages I do not follow.) The Milwaukee Public Library’s hilarious posts are probably the most common ones to pop up on my feed; the LA Public Library makes an appearance now and then, too. My favorite by far, though, is @mychal3ts. Mychal mostly shares heartwarming tales from his job as a Solano Public Library librarian, each one studded with a big smile and polished off with a delighted “Yes!” at the end.

Mychal’s posts encapsulate the joy I feel at having “rediscovered” the library. Every time I find out a book I’m interested in is available at my local library, I feel like a teenager with a crush, giggling and twirling my hair and kicking my feet as I log my giddy little thoughts in a fuzzy pink diary (or, in real life, Substack). Placing a hold is like magic; actually taking a book home feels like getting away with something. You mean I can borrow this book for free, once the person before me is done with it? And I can take this free packet of seeds for my garden, too?

It’s a weird yet gratifying twist away from supporting public libraries in theory, but not in practice. Many of us (myself included) have long loved the idea of public libraries but haven’t actually spent time there, opting instead to support them purely from our cozy online corners and at the ballot box. This is a good start, but what libraries need in order to function—and maintain governmental funding—is patronage. The number of active library cards, books in circulation, workshop attendees, and so on tells those in charge of library funding which assets are worth protecting and whether a specific library should even exist. With the near-constant threats libraries face today, this is more important than ever before.

I’ll admit that I began visiting my local library this year out of guilt. Not only did I hope to ease the strain on my wallet by borrowing books for free, but I realized that in supporting libraries only from afar, I was part of the problem: I wasn’t someone who relied on the library for any of its vast resources, so in the government’s eyes, I could go without it.

But in resolving to do my part, I’ve reconnected with a wondrous, childlike part of myself. This gift far outweighs my patronage in value. I’ve found a comfortable, relaxing place in which I can work, write, or read without having to pay a single dime. I’ve encountered boundless community and overheard conversations so touching they’ve nearly made me cry. Best of all, I get to experience the dizzying excitement of having near-unlimited information, creative works, and inspiration at my disposal—a sensation I haven’t encountered since I was small.

Did you know coyotes mate for life?

What’s been inspiring me lately:

✰ The library, obviously.

✰ Upstream by Mary Oliver. Though Oliver is perhaps my favorite poet of all time, this is a book of essays about losing oneself in nature and creativity—a particularly resonant combo, at this point in my life.

✰ The Quickening by Elizabeth Rush. I almost stopped reading this about a quarter of the way through, since I’ve never been interested in motherhood nor Antarctica. But I powered through, and not only am I enjoying it, but I think it’s helping me realize that creative nonfiction is my jam. (And guess what? I borrowed it from my local library!)