So today I had my official last day at the bookstore. I went in for my exit interview, and then there was a small going away gathering for me, which was very nice. But ever since then, I’ve had this odd weight on my chest, which I begin to suspect is all the sadness I had not felt before today about leaving the place after almost nine years -- nine years of complete devotion and commitment, of emotional investment . . . nine years of, in the very fullest sense, my life. I met Amy there, so without the bookstore I would not now have my wife, my son, my expected daughter. I immersed myself in the ideology of the place, so without the bookstore I would not now have my commitment to the First Amendment, or my much more developed sense of what that commitment really entails, what it really requires. I took on positions of authority and responsibility, and flourished in them, so without the bookstore I would not now have my sense of self, my awareness of my abilities, my confidence. I was surrounded by literature and great readers, and without the bookstore I would not have read as widely or as deeply as I have. At this bookstore, I learned the meaning of community. I learned to try to see the best in people. I learned more about what really matters in life. And I basically learned who I am. How ludicrously inadequate to call this just a bookstore, to call what I have just left a “job,” or the people who saw me off today, or sent their goodbyes via email, mere “coworkers.” Today I left a family, and a home.
Of course, those metaphors are truer than they may seem. Leaving a family or a home is different from leaving a job, not just because it’s harder, but because in a very important way it’s not really leaving. I feel unequivocally that I will remain a part of the Tattered Cover for the rest of my life. We have given each other far too much of ourselves to ever be truly separate.
It occurs to me that this all might sound faintly ridiculous to many people. Most people have only had jobs, after all. But I know some of my colleagues will understand, and maybe even some people who have only experienced the Tattered Cover as customers. Most who walk through its doors can tell it’s more than just a bookstore. What I’ve learned is just how much more. It can become a part of yourself.
