Straight up, my high school librarian was the bomb diggity. He was my homeboy, if you will. High school was quite an interesting time for me. By interesting, I mean could have been more sunshiny. High school was generally nausea and insecurity all wrapped up in a pretty looking box. If I could go back to high school me, I totally would. I would tell myself “it is okay. Everything is fine. You do not have to care what other people think of you. You are beautiful. You are amazing. You are so strong. You can chase all of the dreams you want. You are enough. You are worthy. You are capable. You are a fighter. You are a daughter of the most high King and that means more than any of this temporal junk”.
The library when I was in high school was my refuge. I spent most of my peaceful, glorious lunch hours there holed up with Teen Vogue magazine or a sweet novel. It was my breathing space, my quiet time, my place where I could simply be.
My librarian’s name was Mr. Swan. Mr. Swan ran a pretty tight ship of a library. There was no monkey business happening in there, no siree. It was heavenly though. Some students did not share my sentiments, but for me it was absolute serenity. Mr. Swan gave me advance issues of the magazine and let me take them home to devour on many nights. I would slip by the library before catching my bus home – it was like our version of an awesome secret handshake. He let me sit wherever I wanted and gave me quiet space for my mind to dream and my imagination to run wild.
In my high school years when I experienced peer pressure, body image issues, social awkwardness/generally not feeling like anyone understood me, Mr. Swan gave me space. He provided space for me to be who I was. He let me dive into fashion magazines and read. He let me dream about my future and what I wanted. He let me be who I was. And for that, he was pretty special.