Exhibit A: Would this small child sink into an armchair for quiet reading time at home? Not in a million years. Libraries are magical places. Photo: Hayley Nicholls.
A helpful family member recently took my eight-year-old to the library and, let me tell you, it awakened something in her.
Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, she came home espousing the joy to be found behind those modest brick walls.
“It was the best, Mum!” she said. “From now on, let’s go once a week!”
And so, dutiful, just-do-what-I’m-told parenting archetype that I am, we pencilled in a weekly library date.
Unfortunately, returning to the library after an extended break meant first fronting up to the front desk to confess my prior sins and ask for forgiveness (and a new library card).
Time to face the music. I winced as a lovely librarian, struggling to control her face, looked over my rap sheet.
Not only did I have late fees, but it turns out I was still harbouring unreturned books.
Gasp! My daughter turned on me so fast, I genuinely thought she might disown me on the spot and ask the librarian where they keep books on emancipation law.
In contrast to the traitorous reaction of my own flesh and blood, the libertarian librarian could not have been kinder. Yes, I could still have a new library card, and yes, I could still borrow books today.
Zero ramifications for my actions? How fabulous!
Once my diligent daughter recovered from the horror of Mum’s blatant disregard for law and order, she walked calmly and quietly to find a peaceful nook to settle in.
I cast an eye back at the front desk. Had they somehow administered a sedative on entry?
This kid, usually a human ping-pong ball, was floating through the room like she’d received formal etiquette training. Honestly, I could have left the library bag at home and simply piled books on the little lady’s head.
This surprising behaviour was just one of several revelations that came to me that day, as we enjoyed all the library has to offer.
And that’s the core of it: A library has so much more to offer than I had realised.
It’s not simply book storage and disbursement.
Some surreptitious people-watching reveals that people use the library in myriad ways.
Studying, socialising, playing and creating. Admiring coffee table books and listening to audiobooks.
College kids were huddled together poring over a shared project. A grey-haired knitting club clicked and clacked away, chatting in soft undertones. At one point, a flock of toddlers swept through, carried away with excited momentum after what appeared to be some kind of Lego club had wrapped up in a side room, chased down by apologetic parents.
Then there was me – speed-reading on a specific area of interest (Mediterranean cooking) while my little one busily does the same (unicorns).
At one point, I simply stared out the window, deep in thought, while she played Minecraft with headphones on.
But we were out. And it felt refreshing to do these “alone” things, surrounded by others seeking the same quiet comfort.
Libraries are a prime example of what I recently learnt is termed a “third space”. That is, somewhere other than home or work – for people to gather.
Somewhere to just “be”. No deadlines to meet or dirty dishes breathing down your neck. No booking needed and no time limits. In this magical hidey-hole, you’re free to focus on your own interests for a while.
And what’s really surprising is that you are not even expected to spend money (or settle debts). A truly unfamiliar sensation these days.
So, we are converted library lovers. Each week, we will return for a few hours of leisurely reading, writing, listening – or simply existing together, indulging in whatever we like.
Because I knew I was missing my library card. I didn’t realise I was missing the library.
Original Article published by Hayley Nicholls on Region Canberra.
