A note from a reformed book snob

To the clerk at the unnamed independent bookstore:

You answered my questions, and were, for all intents and purposes, polite. What left me feeling uneasy was the book snob vibe that permeated my conscience until I had formulated a pretty solid argument.

I always know I've been had when I want to give a serious @ss chewing to the person who's gotten the better of me (see entire relationship with N). Yes, I realize this shows that I am a slow processor, otherwise, had I found my guts, I would have said something clever in a point making way at the moment. Lucky for you it takes me a while to put things together because I'm always too busy being polite. BUT regardless...

I've been where you're standing. Behind the counter of a thriving independent bookstore. It's something to be proud of. It's an incredible place to be-- surrounded with tons of information, and, if you're careful, you can even take home a perfect copy, read it, and bring it back. For free! And there's no due date, no one else's fingerprints, no bent pages, and no sticky plastic cover with someone else's sneeze residue on it. A new book is a potential wish, an unadulterated escape into someone else's world, and hopefully a far cry from your own. There are only a few other things with less potential. Independent bookstores, to me, are a place of solace that even a church can't match. (Churches create a little tension in me. Can't really explain why.)

I am not a fool. I have a Masters degree. I've read the Pulitzer Prize winners. Pondered the theories of the great philosophers. Contemplated existentialism. Considered others to be less intelligent than I and felt superior.

But to be entirely truthful about this stuff...

Who cares?

Don't think I didn't work with profundity enough. I started to dig into it-- really study up. But I found myself pondering it to the point that I was pensive all the time. Sure, I felt smug and profound, but melancholy.

Which means that I was wasting my energy on it.

I'm generally a happy person. Not giddy-every-morning happy or anything like that, but I'm not the type of person to be dark consistently. And to be worried about whether or not there is a point to anything I do, or what anyone else does, for that matter... well, I can't let it be a worry to me. I believe that things fall apart. I believe that many of the things we do are, in fact, pointless and a waste of time (ahem, Reality TV).

But I refuse to believe that I, as an individual, do not have an impact (however miniscule) on this world. I didn't say earth. I said world. Which includes earth, and all the people, plants, animals, and other stuff it contains. And if I make an impact, how can that be called insignificant? How can that be called pointless?

Maybe that's arrogant. I'll accept that.

And maybe all this is pointless. But the difference I make to my kids, my students, and other people I see every day is the reason I start every day.

And if you'd ever take the time to check out lolcats and failblog, you'd learn that there are a lot of creative people out there. Besides, we all need a reason to smile.

Sincerely,

me.