Last week I posted about shelving as spiritual practice. Through shelving, I had come to recognize that the library is a source of not only raw information, but is a place of the application of the information to sensitive, emotionally complicated, and often difficult events. And so, I developed new eyes for the patrons.
I also had new eyes for the way reference is handled at libraries.
Reference librarians had ceased to be just people with answers to me. I saw them as intermediaries between people in need of help and the materials that could help them. Librarians would smile politely, point people in the right direction, pluck the proper book from shelves, and say – with the same polite smile all the way through – is there anything more you need?
The interactions are friendly, sure. But they’re not exactly sensitive.
For people using the public library immediately after a cancer diagnosis or in the midst of a spiritual crisis or in filing for divorce, the librarian becomes one more person to whom they must put on a happy face. Smile and don’t let the quiver start in your lower lip, ignore that your throat is tightening, all while you try to explain your personal and heartwrenching situation.
I’m guilty of the polite friendliness, too. I often think back on the time a woman asked me where books on grieving would be. She was obviously in mourning – black layers, glassy no-tears-left eyes, no energy left. I smiled and walked her to the proper shelf, softly and kindly asked if there was anything more she was looking for, and walked away.
To a woman in deep and obvious need, I offered nothing. A cold shelf of books. I often wish I could go back and start a conversation, ask how she was doing, or at least offer my condolences in addition to the pages.
I don’t know what a better system would look like, other than this: I want to acknowledge that every person I encounter is a person to be encountered.
love wins (eventually) 