The Bookshelf

For some reason, I have a fear of commitment to buying a bookshelf. It feels permanent. I know that bookshelves come and go, they’re timeless pieces of furniture with the honor of carrying timeless valuables. If my book collection outgrows it, we can sell it on Facebook Marketplace and buy another. If I go through a phase where I decide everything I own should be white, it can be painted, or again, back to Facebook Marketplace. If someone came over and made a comment about how ugly the bookshelf is, I would probably not hangout with them again, but again … Facebook Marketplace.

I got married to a man who thinks differently. For some reason, he thinks we can own a bookshelf. Apparently it doesn’t have to mean we have to live here forever? Doesn’t make much sense to me. In my bedroom at home, I had a $10 wooden box from IKEA as my bookshelf. Hardly any books fit in it. In our first apartment in Indiana, we had three $15 wooden boxes from Home Depot as our bookshelf. I don’t think it was intentional, we just didn’t have a lot of money. But I lived happily without a bookshelf, knowing I did not want to stay in Indiana forever.

We bought a bookshelf last week. I don’t know what came over me, but we have missed the return window and we have to keep it now.

I listened to some advice I have gotten (several times) to be rooted where you are. Stop always asking where you’re going next. It’s not really the kind of advice I like to get. But I decided to try it out this time. I had an internship with an end date and I knew we could have left once the time came. But we didn’t. We found a place to rent and we decided to stick around. We bought a coffee table last week, too, so who knows if we’ll ever leave.

We put our bookshelf together and I hated it. I definitely wouldn’t have had anyone over in those conditions. We messed around and put some books sideways and threw a plant on there and I like it now. I started to walk into the living room and feel like I was home.

One moment I was proud of myself for staying somewhere longer than a year, proud to walk into my living room and see a bookshelf that’s not a wooden box, dare I say even enjoying it.

On the bad days, days my FOMO feels greater than my joy, when what I’m doing here doesn’t seem fruitful, my first thought is always the bookshelf. This. This is why I don’t buy bookshelves. I will walk into the living room feeling differently. Is the way the light catches the plants in the morning a good enough reason to stay here?

Sure, this story is about buying a bookshelf. But it’s more than that. It’s about how buying the bookshelf means choosing to not be afraid of it not always making sense, but it still be worth having a bookshelf for.

So, here we are. I started this story in September of 2022, and it’s June in 2023 now. We’re still in New Hampshire and quite honestly, I’m not sure why, or if there even has to be a reason. Not a whole lot is “making sense” to me at the moment. But one thing I’m confident of … I will have a bookshelf wherever I go.

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Song for post: Feels Like Home, Drew Holcomb & The Neighbors, Ellie Holcomb

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Photos by me on disposable, photo of me on disposable by Christian Campbell