The Serendipity of the Stacks
It's a safe place, isolated from the world, ready to reveal some magic...
The Story…
There are places in the world that I have always felt safe.
Maybe safe is not entirely the correct word. Comforted. That’s closer, comforted, like I was a child wrapped in my parents arms in front of a roaring fire.
Places I can go which instantly make me feel better. Feel cocooned. Places where the trampling thoughts in my head slow and organize themselves.
Growing up it was my bedroom. I was fortunate. We didn’t have a lot but my house was filled with love. It was always safe. And my bedroom, filled with library books, was a sanctum within a sanctum. Nothing was ever going to get me there.
No monsters under the bed.
None in the closet.
Just peace of mind and body and thought.
As I grew it became a football stadium.
Being on the field with my teammates was comforting. In college, I’d often go to the stadium at night. I’d sit on the top row and think. Purveying the field prepared me for upcoming games but it also calmed me.
It was peaceful, there, at the top of the stadium.
Alone.
Then I became an adult. A worker bee. Traveling constantly. Flying 6 million miles over the next 10 years.
And I found comfort on a plane.
As soon as I sat, buckled my seat belt, pulled out my book to read or computer to work I felt safe. I’ve had nearly everything you can imagine happen to me on a plane from emergency landings to missed runways to vomiting neighbors, and even death - not mine obviously - but always I’ve felt safe.
Weird, I know, but a plane was a safe place.
Through it all, from a child to my creaky old age, older anyway, one place has always been a comfort and a blessing for me.
It’s being surrounded by rows of upon rows of books.
I prefer big cavernous book stores like:
But smaller, well crafted and curated bookstore work as well:
Libraries work.
Used bookstores are wonderful.
When I visit a new town, along with checking out the funkiest restaurants, the dive bars and coffee shops, I check out the independent bookstores and the libraries.
But I need winding shelves that wrap around me and books upon books crammed on shelves in a haphazard manner…
Think about it…
It’s a mediative device.
My heart rate slows.
My breathe deepens.
My thoughts order themselves.
And, although I’m calmer, I have an excitement about me as I search through the books.
Somewhere, here, lies a thought, or an inspiration that can change my life. A book that can spark a revolution or open an entire new line of thinking I’ve not previously been exposed to. It’s a book or a page I read while standing in the store.
So I wander the stacks seeking magic…
What’s your safe place?
Do it…
Waiting for the Super Bowl.
I’m cooking this weekend.
When I cook it’s either a disaster - time to call the pizza man - or something wonderful emerges. It’s never anything in between.
This weekend it’s:
So, I used bread from a local bakery for the croutons and I’m adding anchovies to the salad. Made the croutons yesterday. Pretty good.
Bucatini with Lemony Carbonara…
The wine - this I know is great.
And I usually only eat once on Sundays. It’s the meal of the day so there is a lot riding on this performance.
Ciao.