A Moment, a Library, and Education

A few days ago I had a distinct feeling of deja vu. Returning from giving a talk to a local organization, I walked towards the library where I currently work to help cover a shift in the evening. Night was coming on, and the warm yellow lights glowed from within the library piercing the oncoming dark. As I entered through the main door into the relative quiet, I felt the same feeling that I had so many times when I was still at Clarion, heading to the University Library after sunset. It's a feeling that is difficult to describe, a gentle warmth of the heart the moment you see the lights in the distance, acting as a beacon in the dark. It is the silent thrill of anticipation of what might await inside, for a good library is a magical place, a beacon in the darkness of the mind just as it is in the physical darkness. It was a moment that caused me a brief feeling of longing, of wishing that I could go back to Clarion's library not just today but as it exists in my mind, as it was for me at that point in my life.

It will surprise no one that I was a frequent visitor to Carlson Library when I was a student, both as an undergraduate and as a graduate. It was usually a good place to be, but it assumed a different character after the sun went behind the distant treeline. Calling it magical seems trite, but for me that is what it was. Students were scattered about working on projects, or not, and the unexpected delight of running into someone I knew was a joy to be savored. But while I liked seeing people and having conversations, that wasn't the sole reason for going. At night I perused the stacks, enjoying the sight of all of those books, choosing one or two to take with me even if I had little hope of reading them. I would find a comfortable chair to sit and often drink coffee while I read, absorbed in new worlds and information that had been previously unknown to me. Whether it was a book about the Roman Caesars, trilobites, dinosaurs, or religion, the wide range of books that even a small University library had to offer were an unending treasure for me. 

The moment of remembrance stuck with me in no small measure because it is an echo of a time that can never be repeated for me. When I started college I entered with a closed mind and a closed heart. I was intelligent but distinctly uninterested in much of what the world was and had to offer. Over the course of my undergraduate experience, my mind was thrown open wide to the universe, to ideas and experiences that I had never encountered and never would have otherwise. It made me curious about the world as I had never been before, a curiosity that I count a gift, one that has stayed with me and, if nothing else, increased. The holdings of the library helped to feed that curiosity, helped me to follow whatever topic I was interested in, to read more about it and demand that I think more critically than I had before. This is, more than anything else, the true purpose of an education, to make one an informed and more well-rounded citizen of the world, to force one to think about life as others live it and to see it differently than before, a perspective that helps a person examine one's own life more clearly. Framing questions about education solely in terms of vocational training severely misses much of the point of what an education is and should be. 

That library, holding more books than I had ever seen before at that point in my life, was no small factor in helping to shape me into who I am today. No public or school library I had known could even come close to the size and range of books that were available to me. The moment I experienced is one I haven't felt in other places, though I've seen other, larger libraries since then. The magic, it seems, is fleeting, and only exists at night, when it exists at all. It is a reminder for me of what was, what is, and what might not have been. My life is profoundly richer for the time spent as an undergraduate, richer for the library there and the fine holdings it has, even in spite of years of cuts to staff and spending budgets. For that, the library at my alma mater will always be a special place for me.