What led me here

About 15 years ago, I was visiting my family in Tucson. I was bored, so I started browsing Craigslist. (As one does…) I found someone advertising 1000 vintage books for $700. Of course, I had to go and look. (I think there is a law or something that says a person has to go look at 1000 vintage books, all in a room together.) Turns out, they were in excellent condition, having been kept in a conditioned room in the desert. So, I bought them. (As one must.) I sold most of them over the next year, for a reasonable profit. Then, I sort of drifted on to other hobbies.

About 4 months ago, I was bored again. (Do you see a trend here? I should never be allowed to be bored! The universe is at risk!) So, I went to an estate sale. (As one does…) It was the home of a retired anthropology professor, and there were about 3500 VERY well kept books. So, I bought them. (As one must.)

I have spent the last five months getting them all catalogued and posted online, and just two weeks ago, put the last on in its place on the shelf. And, of course, in the meantime, I’ve gone to some other sales and continued to collect more books. (See note about not allowing me to be bored. Universe. At risk.) I haven’t “made” any money, because I keep putting any profits back into building more inventory, but I just…love…touching the books.

As I was going through this professor’s stash of 3500 books, I lived his life. The books he bought in the 60s were all on Middle and South America, and he was teaching at Cornell. He did a stint in the Peace Corps. Then he took a sabbatical to Japan. At some point, he learned German. Then he moved to the West Coast, and as he got older, his interests changed. He started putting more importance on leisure time, and developed an interest in film. (Anthropology of. You can’t take the professor out of the man, even in leisure.) There was a little period when he was interested in the sociology of domestic management, and women’s contributions to the household. (Maybe there was some marital strife, and studying the sociology of women was the Professor’s love language?) Then, in the early 2000s there were so many books on health and aging. Then, books on dying.

I am 54 years old, and in my second career. I’m a hospice nurse. Living this man’s life through his books was more profound to me, than being with one of my dying patients. I saw his ENTIRE ADULT LIFE go through every stage, as I held each and every one of those 3500 books in my hands. I felt like Picard in ST:TNG 5:25 – the one where he plays the flute, and lives another entire life. Except my flute was a mountain of books.

And then, I started selling the books. Of course, most of the sales are typical, anonymous online sales…whatevers. But some of them… Some of them got me really thinking. There is an anthropology student, all the way on the other side of the country, who messaged me saying that his interests are almost exactly aligned with my stash. He orders books little by little as he can afford. And, from my end, the most important part is that these books – these cherished flutes of memory – end up in the hands of someone who wants them, will read them, needs them. I honestly would send them all for free, except that I legit did have expenses in acquiring them, and I’ve spent five months solid cataloguing them. So he gets a good discount. And I had a stack of books that I was going to donate, that weren’t worth selling – so I sent them to him for free (well, for the shipping cost).

And there have been others for whom I have done similar. Because…the thing is…the “anonymous” sales are great. I mean, it’s a nice dopamine hit every time I open my browser, and it says “You have another order to ship.” Don’t get me wrong, that’s a good chemical boost. But…what would really feel good…what would be the biggest dopamine hit ever, the most non-stop roller-coaster ride of serotonin and adrenaline and dopamine ever, would be if I had an endless source of really good, high quality books – ones that were all flutes, that all held lives and stories and love, that all deserved to be with people who want them and can play them as instruments, and together they will be an orchestra of lives touched and changed. And if I could somehow, somehow, somehow just give these flying, musical flute-books to the people who want them and need them, whose orchestras are empty, but who need the music of the words and the lyrics of ideas, somehow, somehow, somehow… If I could be the conductor, willy-nilly sending symphonies of books to people whose minds and hands crave and need the sounds and thoughts of the people who wrote the words; if I could coordinate and send the lives and loves and lyrics of the authors, the history and hobbies and harmonies of the previous owners; and just give them to the people who REALLY want them…

And that’s where this started.

More later.