Libraries & McDonalds

Ok, this library is in Spain, and it doesn’t resemble my library in Maine, but I thought it makes the point that for centuries humans have put stock and love into libraries and books. Libraries matter. People have always put stock in them. Time to protect and defend them, one small town at a time.

I originally had a fabulous picture of the NY Public Library instead of this stunning library in Spain—but then I noticed the NY Public Library is now called the Stephen A. Schwarzman Building.

What kind of ego needs to do that? Why does anyone look up to these humans? Oh my.

You know Steve Schwarzman—Wall Street billionaire, Trump supporter, would-be savior of us all (according to him). Interesting. Will Steve support banning books when DT demands it? And if he does, will they take his name off the building? Stay tuned.

But this is Friday, the day I try to write only positive things—so put all that out of your mind, and read on.

Did you know that in this country of ours, there are more libraries than there are McDonald’s? Yep. Put that in your Egg McMuffin and ponder it all the way through the drive-thru.

More places to think, reflect, and grow than places to grab fries. Today, I find that deeply comforting.

Libraries are free for every single person who walks through their doors. And if you want to, you can use your local library to learn anything—absolutely anything—you’re curious about. Even better, they’re mostly run locally. And you know what that means? Our communities control them.

Oh my goodness. Something we might actually be able to save? Sign me up.

Which, of course, brings me to Fridays. Perfect segue.

On Fridays, I’m trying not to fling myself off a cliff into the weekend. Instead, I look for one positive thing I can do—something that grounds me, something that reminds me change starts locally.

This week, I’m starting with the library.

The idea of the public library in the U.S. took root in the 19th century, with early models funded by private citizens, subscription fees, or philanthropists. Benjamin Franklin helped start one of the first lending libraries in 1731.

But it wasn’t until the late 1800s that the truly public, tax-supported library system began to emerge.

Andrew Carnegie—whatever you think of his empire-building—gave away nearly all his wealth, and much of it went to build over 1,600 libraries in small towns across America. The idea was simple: if knowledge was made freely available, people would lift themselves up.

And they did.

Today, our libraries are run by local municipalities—usually managed by a director or head librarian and overseen by a board of trustees. Policies, including those around challenged or banned books, are typically set by the board in consultation with the community.

Which means: we have a voice.

And beyond the libraries we grew up going to, there’s something else happening: tiny libraries. You’ve seen them—little book houses in neighborhoods, perched on poles, filled with books free to take or leave. They look like oversized birdhouses, but they’re really doorways. They’re built on trust and fueled by generosity. If there’s one in your neighborhood, go visit it. Add a book you loved. Take one that surprises you.

And if you can, slip a banned book in there. For me, it’s going to be To Kill a Mockingbird, which I will have in my car after I order five of them from my independent bookstore—never to be confused with Amazon. Let someone else discover it. Let the stories stay alive. These tiny libraries are one of the best grassroots responses to censorship we have.

So, friends, country, humans, and family: let’s start with libraries.

If you haven’t joined yours, do. Go inside it.

Have a conversation with the librarian. Ask about their point of view on banned books. Ask what the policy is at your library. Ask if there’s a board or a committee you can serve on. Libraries are not only public spaces—they are participatory spaces.

Start checking a book or two out every now and then. OK, every week? Too much? If your branch has meeting rooms, reserve one. Even if it’s just for yourself. Sit in there and read or plan or write. Don’t give them a reason to shut them down. Make sure you are showing up—and asking others to.

Make friends with the librarians. Let them know that if they ever need support—especially around keeping diverse books on the shelves—you’re there.

Maybe even gather a group. Find ten people who will each check out and return a book that’s being quietly removed or challenged. Take turns. Make it visible. Keep the shelves full.

And if you’re trying to add to your wellness like I am, maybe a library visit becomes part of your routine—like the gym, but for your inner life. Reading in a quiet room, away from screens, might just be the healthiest habit you pick up all year.

Books are better for your brain than the scroll.

(I’m mostly talking to myself here.)

I’m committing to my library. A long-term relationship is my plan.

Enjoy the weekend.