another unapologetic thought. a risk. or my ego is too big. maybe it doesn’t even matter all the little hesitations i have. they’re actually a lot smaller than my impulse to write you right now. i am very curious about my impulse to lavish and load you up with my thoughts. it’s such a strong impulse. i don’t know why i feel it. i do know it coincides with the point in my life during which i feel quite completely that i will only live once and i should use my time to do the things that compel me, even (especially) when they make me nervous. i think the people who end up really successful (those born into it aside) are those who take chances. and frankly, i have nothing to lose, everything to gain. is it bold for me to tell you i love books? only in light of the fact that i keep dropping essays on you and getting little response. maybe i am like the people you considered selfish on their way to success. i use you. it’s not fair. i want you to hear me. and know me. i’m so selfish that i don’t even care if you respond. what if you never even read what i write? that would be interesting. it doesn’t and can’t matter in this moment though. i have to write it. there are few things that i am sure about in this world. i think anything can happen at any time. i’m not sure about god or faith or divinity. but i marvel at humans. and buildings. and history. and amazing feats of strength. and courage under fire. and survivors. of war. and cancer. and rape. and babies. babies make me reverent. i daydream about pregnancy. you shouldn’t tell people that. that’s what they say. and think. but i can’t be concerned. with what they say or what they think. for a while, my writing felt overly saturated with the i. i resisted it, tried to put it away. but instead she came. and felt fraudulent. and i was only left with me. so i came back. and so on. the point of this message is my morning. i went on a tour with the people here. i work with a staff of 4 women and a man. 3 of the women are brown (mexican, middle eastern and me), one is white and old. and named nan. and nan knows the whole history of this dusty old small, 4 building college. so she took us on a tour.
there is a huge old church. inside of it, i felt peace. reverent. silent. heavy with history. the stained glass and the arched ceilings and the old pews and dark corners and solid empty rooms made me want to stay. but i couldn’t. and i was with them. and they didn’t want to linger. back to work. back to work is where they wanted to be but nan indulged me. she took me to see the library in the other building. i have to wrap this up because soon they’ll all be back from lunch and requiring things of me. can i just tell you that there are a few things i get really…heavy about. maybe there are more than a few. but i can clearly recall just a few instances of coming into contact with a thing and kind of losing the whole understanding of myself… it happened once a year or two ago at an art exhibition of books. i got close to them and couldn’t quite breathe. my heart beat fast and hard and i so strongly felt this other LIFE that i am to live… it happened again today.
first, i saw the ancient decor of this sitting room of the library with actual card catalogs (CARD CATALOGS). i ran my fingers over their faces and opened just one. i got the smell. i loved it. i gushed. they looked at me weird. we kept going. she led me through a dark door to the STACKS. “144,000 or so books,” she said on 7 half-floors occupying 3 actual stories. can i tell you how i felt about that smell? you KNOW that smell. and the dust, the yellowed pages, the dark corners, the sudden daylight from hidden windows… and quickly, i must go (this is why i can’t work here forever, i need to be invested in my work or i won’t do it), she led me to the room where i just about came. (CAME.) this guy’s office housed the collection of the “highly valuable” books. there was row after row after shelf after shelf of old, old, old, ancient, dusty, dirty, tattered, torn, neatly shelved BOOKS. my words don’t do it justice. there is not enough time. what i’m saying is there was a library in this man’s office and i barely read one title on those books, but the very sight of them aroused in me a heavy, HEAVY duty feeling, a longing, a need, a want to own and have and hold these books.
i have barely begun to live my real life. but i am compelled to. so i must. and you too. these are not random wishes. these are opulent possibilities.
i make them probable.
Nonfiction Woman 