Look, you've met me, right? So you know: I don't like talking about my feeeeeeeeeelings. They're gross and dumb and, where I come from, you bury that nonsense. But every now and then, I get all sappy and stupid and sentimental. I lay around, basking in the sensation of spring, listen to Sugarland, and cry. (I mean, it isn't always spring, and it isn't always Sugarland, but it is usually country music. Country music makes me sappy.)
Anyway, all the sunshine and sap and Sugarland and sentiment make me want to, like, talk about my feelings or whatever.
Blech. This is the worst. We should probably all collectively ditch this blogpost ASAP but I'm in it for the long haul. You, however? Live your life. Pursue happiness. Read better blogs.
In one week, I'm going to be transferring to a new library. As a result, I've been feeling... just... too much of everything. (UGH. FEELINGS. SERIOUSLY WHAT AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE RIGHT NOW?)
I've been at the same library for a little more than a year and a half now. I got hired as a page and it was basically the best thing that had ever happened to me. Libraries are pretty much my favorite places on the planet. They're just these building stuffed full of books that people get to borrow for free. And I love books. They're so cool—all full of entirely different worlds and entirely different people. They can be learned from and escaped into. After about ten months, I got my first promotion. It was the next step in what I'd known since my first few weeks on the job: this was what I wanted my career to be.
There's something special about libraries. They're peaceful and calming (even in the midst of a particularly rambunctious story-time). You can meander through the aisles and get lost in your thoughts. Whole worlds are opened up to you—and not just the ones found in books, but through web resources and access to educational opportunities. Movies, music, and opportunities to engage with the community. Libraries are special.
But there is something special about my library in particular. I've had a lot of jobs in the past. (I've served food and cleaned classrooms, I've worked in offices and tutoring centers, I've sold bras, books, and spices. I'm pretty much the employment version of that "I've Been Everywhere" song.) But of all the places that I've worked, nowhere has felt so comfortable so quickly. I can't think of a place where I have ever felt so consistently happy. The past year and a half, I've dealt with a lot of stressful and/or heartbreaking situations. But, even when the rest of my life seemed to be saturated with worry or sadness or frustration, those feelings never came with me to the library.
Everyone that I work with at the library is kind, interesting, encouraging, and funny. They're the kind of people I would want to hang out with, even if I wasn't working with them. One of my coworkers gave me a recipe for a pie crust that opened me up to an entirely new facet of baking. Another one of my coworkers is constantly giving me awesome book recommendations (including Levithan which is what I'm currently reading). Two of my friends from the library accompanied me to the roller derby, thereby fulfilling my lifelong dream of going to a roller derby (and reigniting my desire to join a roller derby). I work with a ton of really great people and this blogpost would be really long if I made note of them each individually so I'm not going to. (Sorry friends. Just pretend I did, okay?)
Last August, I was particularly lucky to find myself in two jobs (both were part time so I had to work two to get by. These are just the sad, sad facts of being 24 in 2016) that I really, genuinely enjoyed. At both places, I worked in environments that felt comfortable and with people that I considered friends. I quit my non-library job at the end of April to really, really pursue a full-time career in the library. It was kind of a gamble because it reduced my income by, well, a lot, and library gigs are hard to come by. It was also hard to leave my other job because I really loved the people there. It was heartbreaking, but I knew it was something I had to do to pursue what I really wanted.
I spent the next couple of months applying to every full-time position that got posted in my library system and in the neighboring ones. I did some interviews. I asked for more hours and tried to accumulate more responsibilities at work. I had a few friends help me edit and revise my cover letters and resumes. One friend, in particular, did a mock interview with me. (It went mega-long, too, because we kept taking breaks for friend-time. She's the besssst.) I stressed out a ton. (And extra-stressed Kat shops which, at least in this situation, was stupid because I'd already halved my income.)
Meanwhile, the amazing people that I work with at the library proved themselves even more difficult to leave. They were all so supportive and kind. Then, it happened. I got hired full-time and I had to tell everyone I was transferring libraries. And once again, they were all so supportive and kind. The message has been, consistently: we'll miss you, but we're excited for you.
I feel that way, too. I'll miss this library and the people who are there. But I'm also, almost unspeakably, excited.
It got me to thinking about this post on tumblr that I saw a few months ago. The author was leaving her job at a coffee shop. She started with an anecdote about tutoring a kid in math. The girl got frustrated and asked, "Will everything always be hard?" And she wanted to encourage the girl and promise that, someday, things won't be hard any more. But, instead, she said, "Yeah, something will probably always be hard."
And it's true. It's hard to have to work two part-time jobs to get by—to know that when you get sick, it'll cost you more than you can afford to take a day to get better, to always be running from one place to the next, to worry consistently about your future, to try to socialize in the midst of an insane/unpredictable/not-constant schedule. But, then, it's hard to leave the places and the people you love, even when it means moving into something stable and consistent. It's hard to pursue something that you really want. It's hard to be confident, to remember that life is manageable, to rise up to new challenges. It's hard to have your heart broken. It's hard to move forward. Sometimes it's just... hard to be.
The tumblr post continued when the girl asked, "Even when things are hard, some things will still be good, right?" And the author said, "Yeah, gurl, things will be good. (Thank you for reminding me.)"
And that's true, too. Opening yourself up to new experiences is good. There are always new places and people to find. Moving forward is scary, yeah, but it's also... hopeful. Really, really hopeful. Trusting in God and yourself and a bigger picture is good. It's good to get your heart broken—to remember that it's there, to feel it mend again. New opportunities are exciting. And it's good that you got to be in the place that you got to be in, and to know the people you got to know, before you had to go. It's good to have memories, things to carry with you.
It's hard to leave the places that you love. But it's exciting, hopeful, and really good to find some place new.
Okay. We've officially talked about my feelings more than I am comfortable. So, you know. You go do whatever it is you do after reading a big chunk of mush. I'm going to tuck my knees under my chins, listen to Small Town Jericho on repeat, and cry. Shut up. I'm a person! SOMETIMES I feel the stupid sentiment.
