Happy Place

Where is your happy place? Most likely, your answer depends on how old you are and where you are in your life right now. Our happy places change as we change. Or maybe not. It would be fascinating to find out. Anyway, recently I was thinking about a place that was special to me more than twenty- five years ago. Looking back on it today, I can definitely call it my happy place at that period of my life.

I was lost at that time. I had a love for literature and writing, but no clue what to do with it. I had accomplished a lot of writing in college several years before, but I wasn’t able to write much since then. I was stuck in a depressing job, my best friend had gotten married and moved away and I was just trying to fit into the world that I didn’t choose but was all I had. I wanted to run away. I wanted to be creative and write. I wanted to find people who were like me and would understand and accept me. I wanted to discover peace.

I did discover peace. I found my happy place. I knew it back then because every chance I had, I rushed to get there. And I smiled every time I passed through the doors of Beltsville library.

I know, I know, a library. Where else would an introverted bibliophile love to go? But, although I adored the library, there was a small room off the front hallway that I spent many afternoons and  Saturday mornings. The room was opened only when they had volunteers to work. It was stocked weekly with new books, magazines and records. Yes, my happy place was the book nook at Beltsville Library.

Books, books and more books! There was a cart for discounted books when you first walked in and I usually found one or two goodies there. Then there was a stand for magazines where I found current ones of all kinds that I would buy for me and my friends and family for the low price of 10 for a dollar. The rest of the room was filled with bookcases and organized according to genre fiction, nonfiction and children’s. There was even a spot next to the volunteer’s desk that housed current novels, memoirs and bestsellers.

Just walking into the little store of used discount treasures lowered my blood pressure and anxiety level. I would take it all in and feel true peace for the time I spent browsing for new reads. I became friends with the volunteers, each of them working the store for their own love of books and for the library. Lovely, intelligent, well-read, retired people. We shared book recommendations, reviews, opinions and stories. Most of the time, I stayed in that store past the average time most people did, but I didn’t care. The volunteers didn’t either. We enjoyed seeing each other, and when I walked out with my treasures, I always felt better. My happy place. A place I could just be me for a short time and it was okay when I left, because I knew I’d be back later that week or the next week. When I was sick or too busy to visit my happy place, I became anxious and couldn’t wait to return. I wondered what books and magazines I was missing. I wondered how my retired friends were doing.

I enjoyed these visits and never thought that these quiet, wonderful days would end. But one day, they did. The old library closed for renovations. I was crestfallen because I loved my library and my little bookstore as they were. I’d been going to the library since my family moved to the area when I was seven years old. I knew where everything was, checked out more books than I could count and spent hours reading and writing at those awesome, old, computer-free tables.

After a time, Beltsville library reopened, and one day, with little joy, I checked it out. I walked down the long but now unfamiliar hallway. That ageless scent wasn’t there. The old bulletin board was gone. Instead, there was new paint and the scent of fresh carpet, both in shades of red and blue. But the worst thing happened when I approached what should’ve been the door to my happy place. It was gone. Gone. No door and no perfect little peaceful room. Instead, there was a small area with a table and chairs and a vending machine in the corner. And on a few shelves sat several lonely books. There was a sign that explained you could purchase a paperback or hardcover at the front desk. The prices were the same. And that was it. My happy place was taken from me and replaced by this small area with a meager selection of books and no friendly smile to greet me. No sweet retired lady or gentleman to chat with and share our latest news or book reviews.

Stepping into the “new” library wasn’t any better. Everything I knew was gone. Everything had changed and my local library, the place I loved for so many years, was gone. I’m sure the kids at that time loved the changes. The new computers, the bright paint and modern furniture. But I knew I would not be going back. There was nothing left for me. Call me old, call me a change-hater, but I couldn’t connect to this place. I left it for the new generation.

I’m grateful that I had my comfy, old library for so many years and I’m even more grateful that I had my book nook, my happy place.

This post honors that time in my life, those quiet hours with a room filled with books and those wonderful, memorable volunteers who became my friends, even if it was for a short time.

So, did you ever have a happy place? Do you have one now? Please share!