Identity Shift

Or, the Meaning of Having Meaning

My thoughts about today’s topic are not quite fleshed out, but something happened recently that’s worth a mention.

Little Bean built a library in her bedroom; two large cardboard boxes, fastened together. The upper box was where her books went, the lower was what she called a Reading Nook.

“Do you like it,” she asked.

I told her it was beautiful. And it is.

And now, I am no longer able to deny that this - being a librarian - is my legacy to her. Not being a writer.

For twenty five years, my identity was tied into my writing as a journalist, reporter, editor, publisher and then book writer. When she was born, I thought my books, my memoirs of our journeys with her and our life together, would become her touchstones.

Maybe someday. But not today.

Today, to her, I am a librarian. My library, and its little kids corner, is her happy place. She adores our children’s librarian. She has her own Little Free Library. She gives her books to her friends.

She built her own library in her bedroom.

This is it, this is what’s sticking. This is the platform by which she’ll understand me and this is the platform by which I’ll earn her trust, and leave a legacy to her. My books? Well, that will still happen. In fact, her and I are currently working on Volume 2 of our NH Rock Guide series. But she doesn’t tell her friends that her daddy is a writer. She tells them that her daddy is a librarian.

And I like the job. There’s a little too much math involved, if I must be honest, for my taste. But the platform of running my library affords real world change and direction to my community in real time. We can watch kids growing up there, learning. I can see as clearly as can be how important, how sacred, a library can be in someone’s life. That has meaning and can be both inspiring and an inspiration.

This career turn so late in life has surprised some writer friends and I understand. It surprised me as well. I still sometimes struggle with the identity shift. I feel guilty about my enthusiasm for this new role, like I’m abandoning my past.

But living a life of yes, of accepting opportunities when they arrive, can offer a different kind of satisfaction.

“You should try it,” she says, pointing to the lower level.

So I grab a copy of the latest book she’s reading, “Junie B. Jones and the Stupid Smelly Bus,” and I crawl into the box with her. Only my head and shoulders fit, but there’s some stuffed animals for pillows and that’s fine. The dog walks by and nibbles my toe. Little Bean and I read there on the floor in an old cardboard box library and the afternoon fitters away. Time passes as it always does.

Books are books, it’s all the same. I’m a librarian, and she’s my favorite patron.