It's Lonely at Barnes & Noble

There's something deeply romantic about this particular Barnes & Noble.

I feel like idealizing and waxing poetic about Barnes & Noble is about the most cliche thing in existence for an introverted nerd-type, and part of me wants to apologize. So... I'm sorry?

When I say this bookstore feels romantic, I mean it in both senses. It feels like a mildly magical place, where a thousand stories are held between the warm overhead lighting and the soft green carpet. But it also feels like both a destination and a crossroads for countless actual couples, holding hands or sitting together.

The store sits in a town square that's completely decorated for Christmas season. Walking at night under the wreaths and twinkling lights hanging off every wall, it feels... warm. It's the kind of place that makes you feel like you're on a date, even if you're by yourself. It's probably why a lot of people go on actual dates here all the time. I went on a couple of dates here myself; they were nice. But that was more than ten years ago, and I sit here now feeling like a silent observer in other peoples' life stories.

Over the years, I've spent probably upwards of a thousand of hours at this particular B&N. I used to come here after school most days every week, sitting in the giant chairs on the second floor, reading the paperback collections of comics. The staff at B&N isn't supposed to complain about people treating their store like a library, but I'm sure it annoys them. They knew me, though, and seemed to appreciate me, since I often acted as an unpaid employee, recommending books to other customers who were actually there to buy books. Once or twice the manager said she should hire me, but she never did. But I still got to read hundreds of books for free, though, so I couldn't complain. It was a good arrangement.

Right now I'm reading a book called It's Lonely at the Centre of the Earth, by Zoe Thorogood. It's an autobiographical graphic novel by someone dealing with really severe depression through comedy and kinda gut-wrenching art. It's kind of incredible. A tumultuous stream of consciousness represented by shifting art styles. I'm gonna buy it just so I can lend it out to a ton of people.

Pause. There's a couple standing like one and a half feet in front of me and the lady has *incredibly* tight purple yoga pants on. I'm having to try very hard not to look up, just to be polite. It's kinda awkward, though the fact that they can hear me typing this right now but don't realize I'm typing about them is really funny to me. Okay, she sat down. I can focus again. Where was I...?

Right. Depression.

The overriding and underlying cause of a lot of depression, for me and others, is the idea that we're not where we're supposed to be. That we aren't living up to whatever or whoever's standards. Which... isn't fair, except that sometimes it feels like it should be. It's tough to see dozens of other couples and families around here and wonder why that can't be me. I hear people at the fake Starbucks downstairs having conversations about their jobs and I wonder how I don't have a job that fits me.

Reading Zoe's thoughts in It's Lonely at the Centre of the Earth (I feel weird calling her by her first name, but after reading it I'd feel weirder calling her "Thorogood.") is interesting because it follows someone who's successful at her job, but is still dealing with nearly-crippling self-doubt. It makes me wonder what I'm supposed to make of that. Does that mean that there's no end for that feeling? Or that I shouldn't feel bad being where I'm at? How do I want things while not feeling bad that I don't have them? Especially when those things seem pretty basic?

I don't really have answers for any of these things. Maybe the questions are valuable in and of themselves.