Shelves and shelves of books, their pages casting a dusty, inky scent into the air. The lights overhead flick to life as I pass through, breathing deeply. Hardly another soul breathes in the bookish air, the semester having just started. A couple of tables I pass have backpacks at them, but their occupying students seemed to have vanished.
I keep going, heading to the back of the stacks, meandering between rows, checking the signs for the aisle I need. It feels good to be back here again, on the search for answers to my musings, on a journey toward learning something new.
At the end of the aisle, I sink down, perusing the titles, pulling books from the shelves, flipping through pages, evaluating them. I sit so long that the lights flick off again, but the late afternoon sun coming through the windows casts a warm glow. As I’m sitting there, I realize that I will probably never stop wanting to be a student. I love this life, the sense of purpose it gives me. For me, there is nothing quite like having a sense of purpose and taking the journey to achieve that purpose.