For a few months I’ve been hearing this phrase—here for you—in unlikely places. The words have stayed with me like a thrum beneath the sickening roar of our civic dismantling. Someone is here for me. Someone is here for me in my forsakenness; someone stands ready to help.
It started in the still, small quiet of my local library where I hadn’t been for many years, since the only “library” I borrowed from was a free digital library, the books delivered not by actual librarians but by that Amazonian anaconda that had taken over the world by squeezing real life out of us. It had become my custom, although I hate now to admit it, to browse the regional catalog of free digital library books online and place a hold on the good ones, the popular ones, the new and notable ones, the prize-winners. But it was often a kind of infinite hold, a purgatory lasting weeks or months for my turn to borrow, undermining even the word “library” as a place you walk into (on your feet) find a book (on a shelf) and take it home (in your hands) that very day.
I knew that my local library, like all public libraries, had been under strain. Financial strain, yes, cultural strain, and political strain. And yet I hadn’t fully realized that I was adding to the strain by not fulfilling my job as a patron of this vital public service, an exemplar of democracy at its very best.
And so it came to be that in January I buckled under the weight of an extended digital hold and set foot in my small-town library, no farther away than the end of my street, and asked if they had the book I had expected to wait a near-lifetime for.
Yes, we have it on the shelf. Would you like to borrow it?
I can’t believe it!
Do you have a library card?
Yes, but I’m not sure where it is . . .
How about your phone number?
That’s all I need?
Yep.
I can’t believe you have what I’ve been waiting 96 weeks for!
We’re here for you. We’re always here for you.
Even saying it, the librarian knew she was saying something more. It wasn’t just some vague assurance that gets muttered like “thoughts and prayers”or “have a nice day.” It was literal. The world is here for you. Your town and your country are here for you. The books and their writers are here for you. The librarians, the volunteers, and the universe of readers are here for you. The place is here, the people are here, and in this time and place, they are here for you.
Whether we fall or rise depends entirely on serving one another in every way and place possible. Look to the people who are here for you, still here for you, wherever you are and whatever you need. It may seem insignificant, irrelevant, old-fashioned, and unnecessary, but it’s not. This is how we survive.
Photo by Rabie Madaci on Unsplash
I love this so much! I just renewed membership (expired, probably) in two national organizations, increased my monthly donation to Washington Trails Assoc. and now I’m going downtown to the Carnegie library to pick up two books I’ve had on hold. Maybe I’ll buy some stamps at the PO across the street too, which hasn’t changed since I was a child. “It may seem insignificant, irrelevant, old-fashioned, and unnecessary, but it’s not. This is how we survive.”
But what is the book?
Comment by Gretchen Staebler — March 28, 2025 @ 2:08 pm
The first book was Tell Me Everything by Elizabeth Strout. I have also obtained from my library since mid-January: Stay True by Hua Hsu, James by Percival Everett, Intermezzo by Sally Rooney, The Mighty Red by Louise Erdrich, The Women by Kristin Hannah, All Fours by Miranda July, The Life Impossible by Matt Haig, and The Wedding People by Alison Espach.
Comment by Karen Maezen Miller — March 28, 2025 @ 2:35 pm
I love your list! I’ve read three of them, one I am halfway through right now and James is in my queue. Thank you for sharing this. Books, letters, connections. They are like glue for all my broken bits. I’ve only been inside my library once in the past year … Libby has been like a lifeline, but I will be taking my mom in soon to get a library card. These really are means of survival.
Comment by Bonnie Rae — March 28, 2025 @ 5:13 pm
Oh, how I love the Sierra Madre Library! My daughter was a page there many a year ago and constantly brought home enormous stacks of books…and paid enough late fines to fund an addition to the building. I always teased her that it was “money well spent.” A perfect small-town library that supported local life and, I’m sure, still does. Here for us, indeed.
Comment by Cathlyne Pyle Talevich — March 28, 2025 @ 3:31 pm
I’m going to use “Amazonian anaconda” to describe that “thing” in all my conversations henceforth. I’ve stopped feeding it myself hoping it starves to death.
I look forward to everything you write, thank you. AND, my town just broke ground on a new library less than 2 miles (walking distance!!!) from my house. I’m so proud of my town that a NEW library is being built!
Comment by Kert — March 28, 2025 @ 4:16 pm
Your messages are always so wise and comforting. The world does seem to be a frightening place at the moment but reading your messages help me to realise there are so many good people in the world. If we can just keep doing what we can to help where we can, this too will pass.
Comment by Wendy — March 28, 2025 @ 5:39 pm
Thank you for this reminder. With everything gone mad, mad world it’s hard to see what’s been in front of us.
Comment by Debi Faulkner — March 29, 2025 @ 10:14 am
If it wasn’t for the Amazonian anaconda – I would never have read your books and now be reading this blog! (This is no defence of the retail behemoth; but just another example of the irony of modern life…..)
Comment by Debbie — April 5, 2025 @ 2:06 am