The aisle smelled like a garage sale I had been to once, with that mold meets paper feel. I glanced at the librarian, feeling his judgement radiate toward me. He caught my eyes, giving me a smug head tilt as he pushed his cart like some kind of academic hobo. I was there, standing in the most desolate, humiliating section of the library. The Self Help section. It might as well have been labeled the "desperate and pitiful" section, with a "give up all hope now" banner spanning all five rows. This was no man's land, the place people attack with a James Bond in-and-out-tuck-and-roll-be-seen-and-die attitude. I was not sure how I had even ended up in this place, staring at When You Can't Take Anymore or Life Can Be Worth It.
Part of me wanted to stand on a chair and announce to the Quiet Room readers that I had gotten lost on my way to the magazine stand. The other part of me opened a book. The first chapter focused on definition, asking me to define myself as a person. This book asked rude questions that prodded into my relationships and family life. As I read on with an indignant look on my face I soon became disgusted that this book was defining me by what I do, or who I love. I sighed, placing the book back. My curiosity got the better of me. I picked up just one more.
Thirty minutes later I awoke from an empowerment dusted haze as I realized I was now sitting cross-legged on the floor, with The Better You open on my lap. I couldn't help but laugh at myself, but quickly stifled my giggling when I realized how crazy I looked. That was the last thing I needed, being caught laughing on the floor of the Self Help section.
As I moved on to a study table I couldn't help thinking of all the misused words and dangerous logic used in my shameful detour. Of course I was not defined by others! Without all the people and accomplishments in my life I was still Autumn, and Autumn... And Autumn what?
If I stripped away my family and friends, my education and acclaim, who was I really? I was stunned by the lack of a swift and reassuring answer. I wanted so badly to be someone great apart from the world I was placed in, but I couldn't define myself other than friend, daughter, or lover. I knew that this was the time in every one's life when they begin to truly discover who they are, but I wasn't prepared to answer life altering questions next to a stack of half priced cookbooks.
My pondering turned to panic and panic to terror as I sifted through my mind for even a glimmer of an answer. Staring through glazed eyes I finally read the sign I had been staring at for almost an hour. "No one should have to be illiterate. Please contact the Cincinnati Literacy Institute for information concerning free tutoring". My face burned as I read on. The audacity of placing a sign for an illiterate person to read, in a library no less, began to infuriate me. Suddenly, I realized that this was what defines me. Injustice pains me. I have an innate desire to free people from the stupidity of the average corporate decision, while taking shots at The Man in the process. I dream of a world where equality and grace prevail, and children come home from school not filled with facts, but ideas. This, this desire for a better life, defines me if not just a molecule of the woman I have become.
I sighed, relieved. I had hit the tip of the ice burg that was my true self, even sitting next to the cheap cookbooks. I checked the time, rising from my chair to meet the bus down the street. On the way to elevator I stopped by that guilt filled book shelf, placing The Better You back where I had found it. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a woman hurriedly searching through titles, practicing the James Bond method of emotional band-aid retrieval. I gave her a smile that read nothing short of "I used to be you" and got on the elevator.
It was refreshing, finding a piece of my soul on a public library display board. I knew I would never venture to the Self Help section again, unless someone printed a book for the illiterate. I could always use a sturdy coaster.
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