I visited my childhood library yesterday. We moved away from Brigham City a long time ago and left this beautiful place in my past. This library is where my mother would find me, lying on my back with my feet propped on a shelf, reading after school. We lived a block away, and I couldn’t get enough of its magic.
Now, at 45, I understand why I’m interested in a thousand things. It’s because of this dang library! I’m writing this on my phone, standing in the same aisles that fascinated me as a kid. Just look at the titles! “Master Karate,” one book tells me. Another is called “Theater for Young Audiences,” and another promises to show me the “Pro Secrets of Digital Photography.”
All I have to do is rent one of these gems, and I’m on my way to becoming a NASCAR driver or a great violinist. Who would have thought?
My librarian, that’s who.
The library is where I learned that I could be anything. It’s here that I discovered the ME I want to BE.
The only thing missing from my childhood is the old card catalogs I used to thumb through in hopes of finding that perfect book. Now, there’s a snappy new computer in its place. But the rest is still here. The oak paneling, the stained-glass windows filled with amber and sage tint. The huge world atlas and the old elevator that rattles when you take a ride.
I’m a curious person, and I have my library to thank for that.
Until next time, read slowly – take notes – apply the ideas.
-Eddy
