An Open Letter to Librarians

Dear Librarians,

Some people probably only know you as the person who hands them the book they just checked out, but others know the true you. We have personally been on the receiving end of the kindness you disperse and the impact you can make.

I’m one of those people. I learned to feel safe at the library. I knew that no matter where I moved, I could go there to feel like someone cared. Librarians always care and not just about books.

You care about stories. Stories in books and stories inside people. I know because I’ve seen it in libraries everywhere I’ve been.

You nurture every person that walks through the door. You find what they need, whether it be a place, a person, or a book. You always go above and beyond to make it happen too. You’ll call your friend hundreds of miles away to get a copy of a book if you need to.

Your brain is like a walking computer and Dewey decimal usually has nothing on you because the network of caring people you’ve built to help you do your job is likely bigger than the network it takes to run Amazon.

But those are small things in comparison to what you really do.

You see people.

Through what they read, how they walk, and their patterns of behavior. You learn your regulars like you learn the pages of a book. You can tell when they are down. You can see when they have been hurt. You know what they need and then you magically produce a book filled with words that makes their wounded heart sing.

You can do that because of how good you are at listening. It’s more than half of your job. You listen to what people think of books they read and commit it to memory so you can share it with someone else. You listen to the vague plot descriptions of books people are searching for. You listen to what people in the community want and need.

You actively listen.

You have to in order to do your job because no computer can produce the name of the book where the poet falls in love with all of his students and then one of them changes everything in his life. Only the brain of a librarian can do that.

You observe as much as you can. You notice which books are getting popular and still hold a flame for the hidden gems. You watch for new series you know your regulars will love. You know which authors have a book like the one they just read and you even know those people who like a good predictable plot.

You have that ability because you engage as many people as you can about the books they are returning or checking out.

But it doesn’t just log the words on those pages. Your brain also pays attention to the reader.

The reader who is down and out, the small kid soaking up books to avoid their reality, the hopeful romantic looking for the kind of love she reads about, and even the student racing the clock to find a reference with just the right information.

Those readers make up a community you know and love. You nurture that community in ways no other job can. You teach the children and often guide the adults, even out-of-towners no one else is willing to talk to.

You pay attention to everyone and everything.

Nobody keeps up with the times like you do. You have to. You teach community members how to use a computer and the new way to write a resume to get attention. You organize events to keep kids interested in learning and are often fostering community in places where it wouldn’t exist otherwise.

You hold the community together.

You nurture it as if it was a child of your own.

But most importantly, you nurture each person, individually, based on what they need.

For that, I’d love to thank you.

Because I was once the little girl escaping abuse in books, the stressed college student missing something for their paper, the battered spouse looking for resources, and the homeless person without a way to gain access to help or the internet - so I know that without my local librarians I wouldn’t have become who I am today.