Protect what brings you joy

Lesson #23 of 40

As I approach 40, I’m embarking on a year-long project to reflect on the lessons I’ve learned in four decades of life. This is lesson #23. You can read the full series here.

I live in an eclectic neighborhood on the east side of Atlanta, a mix of residences of all different sizes and styles. There are big, new constructions, towering townhouses, and smaller, older homes. Ours belongs to the latter category.

In the months Billy and I spent renting but not owning, I walked our streets endlessly, usually with a baby strapped to my chest. On those walks, there was one type of house I envied most.

It wasn’t the biggest houses, though I wouldn’t mind more space. It wasn’t the ones with lush landscaping, despite our then-scraggly yard. Not even the homes with gingerbread trim or stained-glass windows, though I adore historic details. 

It was the houses with Little Free Libraries.

I loved how some libraries matched their homes, painted in complementary colors. I loved how the books inside revealed something about the people who lived there — whether they had kids, devoured paperback mysteries, or simply inherited the library and didn’t care much about reading. I appreciated that each library was an invitation: to linger, to share, to practice a small act of mutual aid.

Billy and I officially became homeowners in September 2021, and one of the first decisions we made was to put a Little Free Library out front. In December of that year, I splurged on a Little Free Library from the organization that popularized the concept. I read tips on maintaining it — build a stockpile, rotate offerings regularly, toss severely damaged books — and posted on our local Buy Nothing group to collect donated books. Then, I waited.

First, I wanted to build up a stockpile of books so we wouldn’t run out. Then, I needed to paint the library. Then, I got daunted by the idea of painting and asked my very busy artist brother if he would do it instead. Then, the unassembled library sat in our shed for over a year. Finally, my brother surprised me with a beautifully painted library last Christmas — exactly two years to the day that we’d opened the box it came in.

I was giddy. I wallpapered the shelves, selected the inaugural stack of books, and snapped photos of my brother’s artwork to share with friends. Then, I waited again — this time for the ground to thaw. By mid-February (the ground thaws early here in the South), Billy dug a hole, poured concrete, and installed the stake. Again, a bit more waiting for everything to set. 

On February 17, 2024, our Little Free Library was finally in operation. And it was beautiful.

I could look at it all day.

In the two years between buying the library and finally putting it up, I did a lot of second-guessing. I’d read horror stories online about libraries getting vandalized or emptied completely. I walked past libraries that were neglected and bare. I worried that the experience wouldn’t be what I’d hoped — that I’d feel frustrated and discouraged trying to maintain a community offering. I let my cynicism take the wheel.

But, 10 months later, I’m happy to report that my fears were unfounded and the experience has been nothing short of joyous.

I love having a Little Free Library, just like I hoped I would. I love picking out books and seeing what other people contribute. I love peeking out the front window and watching families stop by, looking for treasures. I love getting updates from neighbors about a book they found and enjoyed. I love teaching my daughter to share her belongings with others.

I mean, come on!

Some of this joy comes from luck. We’re lucky to have wonderful neighbors who respect the library and understand its rules — you take books, and you leave some too. We’re lucky to live near relatives who happily donate their old books. And we’re lucky to be on a street with just the right amount of foot traffic.

But it also comes from effort.

Every time I walk past my library, I take a moment to tidy it. I get rid of pamphlets or books that might be overly preachy or offensive. I maintain a steady backlog of books and rotate titles often. Last month, I even decorated our LFL for Halloween and offered up a month-long spooky selection of stories — mysteries and thrillers and Where is Baby’s Pumpkin? The themed books were especially popular, and keeping up with the demand took effort (sometimes, I’d walk to other free libraries to see if they had any books that fit the bill). But it was worth it. 

It was a small, silly thing that made me happy. And it made others happy, too.

I spent too long trying to come up with puns about BOOks.

I knew I’d eventually write about our Little Free Library in this series — it’s one of the few things I do purely for fun, with no strings attached. For months, though, I couldn’t figure out where it fit.

But since what was a particularly grim election and its already-grim aftermath, I've been thinking a lot about joy. How invaluable it is, especially in times of sorrow.

“The great thing about joy is that, once you’ve experienced it, it can never be taken away. You get to keep it forever,”

Carlos Greaves

wrote in an incredible essay.

He continued:

The other great thing about joy is that it is limitless — it requires no resources to produce. You can derive joy from something as simple as filling your lungs with air and remembering that you are alive. You can lose everything and still have joy.

I don’t know what the next few years have in store. I am still terrified about what it will mean for women, for trans people, for immigrants, and for people who look like me.

But I also know that I am going to take every opportunity I can to seize joy. To drink from it liberally, and share it indiscriminately.

This! I drank up Carlos’s words and tallied the things that bring me joy. Fortunately, my list was long. Not surprisingly, my Little Free Library was on it.

Thinking about joy in a time of fear and uncertainty makes me consider how important it is to protect what brings you joy. Carlos is right in that joy is limitless and free, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t need tending. We should seek out the experiences and people that bring us joy. We should seize those opportunities. We should appreciate them and allow ourselves to bask in the warmth of happiness, however fleeting it might be.

And we should fiercely protect what brings us joy. For me, that looks like tidying up books and living out my librarian dreams. What does it look like for you?

xoxo
KHG