Library Books & Letting Go

I opened my email yesterday morning to read this subject line: “Hold Pickup Notice Your hold has arrived. Please pick up at the Library’s Circulation Desk.” Letting out a small squeal of excitement, I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. I might as well own this particular library book because I initially held it hostage for weeks past its due date. Alas, being the upstanding citizen I am, I did finally return the book and pay the late fee…only to immediately place it on hold once more. Finally, my turn has come up yet again, so now I may resume this 600-page-journey on which I initially embarked. I wonder if I’ll get the exact same book, though. The library has four copies in circulation, so the odds are not in my favor. Why do I care? The words are the same, the cover art identical, the plot and character and adventures unchanging. What difference does it make if I receive the exact product I released from my care two weeks ago? A small part of me cannot help but feel sentimental…is that ridiculous? 

Library books, I have discovered, are wonderful exercises in the art of letting go. We, as a society, cherish stories and find value in the act of sharing them; therefore, the institution of a public library makes sense. But another coursing current flows alongside these values: our desire to grip tight to what we hold dear. Spiraling beyond books, I struggle so severely with saying goodbye. The transfer of power is rarely peaceful as I bid farewell to a beloved memory, time, or space. Yet, I freely relinquish my attachment to library books because that is the agreement I’ve made: to enjoy them for a short period and then let them go. 

Marie Kondo, expert organizer and author of The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing, guides how to give away worldly goods through a ceremonial technique of sorts. She encourages thanking the item–whether it’s an old t-shirt, a forgotten childhood toy, or that ugly stool you’ve had since college–in order to acknowledge its presence in your life. As goofy as it may seem to thank a pair of jeans, I so appreciate the idea that we can show gratitude for what we’ve had and accept that our connection with this thing has concluded. Which inspires even deeper insight: what else could I absolve that is past its time? Shame from not completing a task list? Anger from a failed relationship? Apathy toward a broken world? How might I take this defined moment and move on to better, kinder things? If I can manage to turn in a library book, perhaps I can attempt to release more holds which no longer serve me. What wondrous possibilities await if I learned to let go?