The Librarian of Your Life
The Librarian of Your Life
There’s a practice I often return to—especially when I feel lost in who I am, or who I’m supposed to be.
It’s this:
Imagine your life is a vast library.
Each moment, each memory, each season of your life is a book on a shelf.
Some are worn from being opened too often. Some still feel unfinished. Some—well, you wish they were written differently.
But here’s the thing:
You are not any single book.
You are the one who notices the shelves.
You are the librarian.
You were there when the chapter of your childhood was written—maybe full of confusion, wonder, or fear.
You were there through adolescence, through turning points, heartbreaks, quiet triumphs.
And you're here now—still witnessing, still choosing what belongs on the shelves, what stories need dusting off, and what you're ready to read again with new eyes.
Here’s the practice:
Close your eyes for a moment and walk through that library in your mind.
Notice the chapters that shaped you.
The identities you picked up along the way—son, immigrant, student, advocate.
Let yourself see the full range of your experiences without needing to edit them.
Say quietly:
“I am not this story. I am the one who holds it.”
“I am not this page. I am the one turning it.”
Self-as-context means you’re more than the pain you’ve felt. More than the roles you’ve played.
You’re the observer. The holder. The one who’s been here all along.
And in that awareness—there’s freedom.
Freedom to choose what comes next.
Freedom to keep writing.
