The Man From London Who Works in Books

I met a man from London at the coffee shop I work at on Wednesday. He was in town for work. He works in books. From my vantage point, he was an angel sent to me. Someone who lives in London, works in books, and travels for work? I thought that only happened in my dreams. I tried chatting, even felt my face get flushed when I told him one of my dreams was working in books, anticipating some course-altering encouragement or wisdom. I was on the edge of my seat, waiting for God to speak through this man with a message for me, and he wants two flat whites and is clearly uninterested in another young dreamer, whom he (probably) thinks is simply romanticizing a life in books. Truthfully, if he would have chatted, he probably would have told me that it’s not all it’s made out to be. To which I’d respond, “But don’t you love it still?” And I know he did. And I’d tell him, “Don’t you know (of course he doesn’t — how could he?) that I don’t want to work in books because of 'BookTok' or a trending novel that ‘changed my life’, but because I have to? That words — reading them, writing them, finding the perfect ones is what I was made to do? And when I don’t do it I feel lost? And that even though I have no 'experience' that I know I could do it because I’d do it from my heart, not my head? That I just need someone to take a chance on me.”

But alas, that monologue stayed in my head.

Sometimes I feel like an angel is in my presence but they were looking for someone else, or for two flat whites for take-away.

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Written on June 23, 2023

Photo taken at Crow Bookshop in Burlington, VT