What is the Writebrarian?
Dispatches from under my rock, Midwestern sounds for East Coast sentiments, and Blue Gatorade Zero
I live under a very specific rock: working as a librarian at a flagship location of a large urban library in the Midwest. It is a full time obligation and then some.
Right now, I am crawling out from under it long enough to attend our niece’s fourth birthday in Chicago. As I write, I can see the flat, green expanses of farmland roll along out of the corner of my eye. In moments like these, when I am acutely aware of my geographical location, I wonder if there is a right or wrong place to live. Intellectually, I know there isn’t, but having grown up in the Northeast, having gone to undergrad in the Northeast, with friends and family still in the Northeast, this transplant can’t help but have persistent doubts.
Cue reminding myself that my particular Midwestern rock is not a bad rock to live under. I live in a foodie-friendly city with enough perks to satisfy me, and it doesn’t take much to satisfy me anymore anyway. It’s a cozy, slow-paced city with a sleepy downtown. Kind of perfectly my speed. In college, my friend said I had the soul of a Midwesterner, and I think that is true, especially after having lived here for over a decade now. And I think I owe that in part to the Music of My Youth.
Over this past week, I’ve been revisiting the Music of My Youth for a few reasons. Firstly, it has to do with the fact that I’ve been sick for two months this summer, and I haven’t been able to sing since June. I dare not attempt any Chappell Roan. Early 00’s emo is better suited for someone who can only manage talk-singing at the moment. And secondly, I’m curious to know how it Holds Up.
I discovered that, largely, it doesn’t. But it did inspire a lot of compassion for my teenage self. She was going through it, apparently. She was doing her best, too.
I played some Taking Back Sunday for Jeremy because he wanted to see if he remembered it. I started playing “You’re So Last Summer,” and he didn’t recognize it. So, I said, “Maybe you’ll recognize this one?” and played “Cute without the ‘E’ (Cut from the Team).” It rung no bells for him, but we did determine that both songs sounded pretty much the same. Taking Back Sunday does not hold up.
But Bright Eyes does! We listened to all of “I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning” while driving around town doing our Sunday errands today. Conor can’t really sing, but he could write. Recurring themes include loss, loneliness, and sadness--perfectly appropriate subject matter for melancholy Midwestern guitar strains with a Nebraskan twang. Recurring geographical locales include the Midwest, obviously, and also New York City, ironically. The juxtaposition feels psychically and cosmically right. And relatable, of course.
Last night, as we were hurtling through the darkness in Indiana, the smell of manure thick in the air, I sipped my blue Gatorade Zero contentedly and munched on taco-flavored Chex Mix--both purchased from a Pilot off the interstate. I relish gas station fare, as it is a rare but unpretentious treat reserved only for road trips. It is not unlike the Music of My Youth--not always actually very good but sometimes rather indulgently enjoyed.
Did any of this answer the question of what the Writebrarian is? My hope for it, at least, is that it is soulful, lyrical meditations on a quiet life spent slinging books. That’s the dream. I wanted to start writing again but didn’t want to work on a fiction project. I wanted to try writing about My Life and having a regular writing practice. Here goes nothing!