Within the next few weeks, I will pack up my dorm, hug my roommates goodbye, and be a graduate of the University of Massachusetts Amherst. My dad will drive us the three hours home to New Jersey. The long stretch of Connecticut will be broken up by a pit stop for the last time. We’ll play the alphabet game on the highway. I’ll remark about how the fog over the Tappan Zee Bridge makes it look like we’re in a white vacuum sealed space. We’ll pull into our driveway, and it will of course feel like any other winter break, but I’ll have to keep reminding myself that I’m not going back. This is it. My future starts here, and I have no f*cking idea what I’m doing.

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My junior year of high school I decided to take on a few extra credits by volunteering in the school library. Every other day during fifth period, when the assistant librarian would head off to lunch, I would take her place, shelving books, cataloging magazines, putting up decorations, and picking books to display. Whoever the librarian needed, I could be. For those 43 minutes, I was in my own little world, going through the repetitive motions of checking the dates on the magazines, penciling in the month and year in the old book. I would pick up book after book off of the cart and put them away one by one, and I wouldn’t even complain about the way my arms ached after returning books to the highest shelves

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I loved how I could tell when the World Civilizations classes or United States History classes were doing their research papers based on the rush of World War 1 books that I had to shelve. I knew when the Psychology class was studying drug addiction or personality disorders. I knew when freshman English was studying memoirs and when sophomore English was doing their dystopian literature projects. I knew which teachers prioritized independent reading based on which brought their classes in to find books. I watched as the librarian listened carefully to each individual student’s needs and placed the perfect book into their hands. I hoped that one day I would overhear a request and be brave enough to step in with a recommendation of my own. I never got around to it. 

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My favorite days were when the librarian told me she was ready for new books to be put on display and that she didn’t have the time to pick them out herself. She told me to go at it, to find my favorites and set them up on the little white stands spread throughout the fiction section. I would locate all of my favorites, knowing their exact locations after months of shelving, and I would pick them out special. For the next few weeks, it would be the books that I chose that would draw the attention of readers, that students would pick up, read the back cover of, and maybe check out of the library to read. 

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Shelving books was soothing. I had made a playlist just for it, smooth, melodic beats rushing into my ears, my phone tucked into a back pocket, the string from my headphones getting caught in between the pages of books every few minutes. Over time I memorized the Dewey Decimal system, automatically carrying the World War 2 books to the back wall where the 940s started. I’d spot the popular book on music that I had shelved a dozen times, taking it to the 780s. 

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I’d push around the cart, cringing a little at the sound of the wheels screeching. I’d start the class period with two full carts of books and finish with none. I loved the satisfaction of tucking the last book on the cart into its perfect spot on the shelf, of giving another reader a chance of learning something. I would sometimes finish early, and the librarian would gush at how helpful I was, how sad she would be when I would have to graduate, how I always had a place there, in our little library. 

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I’ve never had a clue as to what I wanted to do with my life. As an English major, I’ve basically been told again and again that my options are publishing, technical writing, or teaching, with a heavy emphasis on teaching. Growing up as the daughter of two teachers has given me that unique perspective: a true, genuine appreciation for teachers, an understanding of their importance, but also an understanding of how underappreciated they are, how poorly treated, how underpaid. Though isn’t that true of all professions involving books? Booksellers, publishers, librarians — they are not valued for all that they do for their communities. These jobs, though, are the ones that I think I would love the most, the ones where I could watch books come and go, witness their impact firsthand.

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The only thing that I know for sure is that whatever I do, I want to be surrounded by books the way I was in my high school library. Working in the library gave me so many opportunities to learn about different topics, as I took peeks at every book that I shelved or scanned. I would sneak my phone out of my pocket to take pictures of books that looked interesting to remember for the next time I was looking for something new to read. I loved the idea of knowing what other classes in my school were teaching and learning about. 

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Our library had recently been renamed as a “media center.” At first I didn’t understand. I felt that the term “media center” took away its connection to books, but really, it only expanded its connection to all of the other aspects of learning that are so important to high schoolers. The library was not only a place of reading, but a place of learning, of writing and researching. As we learned how to write research papers and produce citations, as we learned how to analyze texts and quote them with proper formatting, our library was the ultimate resource. I loved being at the center of that. 

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I still don’t know what my next steps are, but I revisit those two years in my high school library often. Any job that will allow me to be surrounded by books all day, a job where I can get my hands on binded pages, a job where the smell of old paper lingers, would be a dream. I don’t have to be a librarian. I could be a writer, a bookseller, or an editor. I’m going to graduate, and I’m going to have to face whatever comes next. I’m going to feel lost, but then I’ll pick up a book, and that’s as good a place to start as any.