mid-life crisis in the library

The other day I was thinking that a library must be a terrible place to have a mid-life crisis.  In a library, one is constantly surrounded by books he will never have time to read and knowledge he will never be able to make his own.  It is almost enough to drive one mad.  If Faust were alive today in one of our moderately sized libraries, he would have gone mad too long before coming to the place of selling his soul.  Slowly, I am coming to terms with this.  I am becoming much choosier in the books that I read.  I do not join book groups.  Still, every day that I walk through the stacks, I am faced with my own finiteness.  

In The Line of Duty

A couple of years ago, I received a work injury.  I did not fall.  I did not pull my back under a heavy load.  I did not attempt some heroic feat.  I irritated a tendon in my knee from getting too many books off of the bottom shelf.  Most of my injuries have not been impressive.  I have had only two sports injuries: I threw my shoulder boxing in a friend’s front yard, and I broke my toe playing Hacky Sack.  I am pretty hardy, and I am not that old.  Still, some days it seems that every item that I need is on the bottom shelf.  I am not complaining; it is part of the job.  The bottom shelf often has some great treasures.  My job may never be as dangerous or as courageous as the police or other emergency responders; but I am proud to brave the dangers of irritated knees, sore wrists and endless paper cuts for my patrons.