I was once told that we must take adventures to know where we truly belong, meaning that we have to search to find the perfect place for ourselves. I do not necessarily agree or disagree with this statement. You see, I would like to believe that I have many adventures of my own, and that I have taken many adventures of my own, and that the way I look at the world has grown and changed because of them. That these adventures have taught me a lot about myself and how I feel I fit in this world. This being said, through all of my adventures and journeys I have never felt a strong connection to a place. I have never found that exact city state or town in which I feel I truly belong. But being 17 and still learning who I am, I’m going to assume this is relatively normal. Yet these experiences have made me find where I belong at this point in my life. It’s just that my place isn’t a place. Let me explain. My place is the journey: it is exploration discovery and freedom. I find my place in the fantastic tales of a pair of old timers, in the unbelievable organization of an eccentric shop keeper, in the subtle notes of a sleepy coffee shop’s home brew. I begin to find my place little by little each time our tire blows out, each time I strike up an awkward conversation with a stranger, each time I stare down the road and wonder where I will end up next. Because every day I end up somewhere new experience something new or learn something new. Because sometimes a place doesn’t have to be a place. Because no matter how cheesy it sounds the journey is more valuable than the destination, And in my opinion sometimes that destination gets in the way of the adventure anyways.
The Library will be closed on Monday, January 18 for Martin Luther King, Jr. Day.