When I’m in a new place, I have one rule: Never turn around. To my family, this rule makes me stubborn and a bother to walk around New York City with (we often loop around the whole block). But to me, it helps me learn the city. Not turning around forces a scenic route, lined with new understandings of small businesses, a pragmatic sense of which streets intersect, and just get a general feel for the area. So, when I moved to St. Louis, I kept the turning-around ban in place. 

One of my first weekends here, I went for a walk. Equipped with a pop culture podcast in my earbuds and no sense of urgency, I zigzagged from my apartment to the Delmar Loop. Soon enough, I was at the front doors of the University City Public Library. Being there felt like a mental duplicate. My mental fridge was well-stocked with a library. I already had Olin in storage and I reached for it often, so I didn’t need to double-up with another library just a few blocks away.

But I had time on my side, so I meandered. Immediately, it felt like a release. While WashU was defined by speed-walking to class (littered with quick hi’s and bye’s), then cramming in study sessions and multitasking around the clock, the U. City Library was just one thing: quiet. 

At first glance, this seems obvious. Mention a library, and an image of a bespectacled woman stage-whispering “shh!” comes to mind. And to a degree, the U. City Library was not so far away from this picture. No one was outwardly hushing newcomers, but it wouldn’t be shocking if that were to happen. For once, I didn’t mind that. Amidst the chaos of school (even in my first month), I hadn’t realized how eager I was for a guaranteed quiet space.

Sure, WashU has a few of these always-silent spaces. If you need to “lock-in” on campus, a mysterious man will appear asking you if you want the blue pill (3rd floor Olin) or the red pill (Law Library). While these spaces are perfectly quiet, they aren’t calm. To me, the silence is stiff with a palpable feeling of stress. Upon walking into either location, you can feel the impending doom of deadlines and looming exams. The U. City Library’s calm is the exact opposite. Instead of stressful, it’s rejuvenating. Instead of tense, it’s laid-back. In that newfound quiet, I found a few things that kept me coming back. 

I started my first trip there by browsing the shelves. “Hot Reads” mixed with new fiction and timeless poetry made me feel like someone’s grandpa running their fingers along a bookshelf and reminding the younger generation that a million stories exist in this one sacred room. It felt magical, OK?! I was moving from one genre bookcase to another, my landlocked version of island-hopping. Their clear organization made it pretty easy to live out this fairytale. 

It was also clear that even if the library was quiet, there was still a strong sense of community. In my first month at WashU, I often felt like I was living in a mildly eerie town of people who were essentially all the same age as me. I loved the accessibility of friendship and the inherent community that it brings, but I was ready to see anyone in the age range of literally anything outside of 18-22. The library certainly draws this crowd! Young and older people alike are tutoring, watching movies, and browsing archaic DVDs. Having something for everyone means everyone actually shows up.

The U. City Public Library is able to support this community through their handful of offerings. Their mission of providing a space for everyone doesn’t feel like lip service when they offer free books, dance and play storytime, yoga classes, and computer lessons all in the span of one week. They’re legit.

Now, my monthly trips to the library are a ritual. I go to temporarily pause the noise of the week, and later extend that pause to whenever I crack open the books I check out. To me, the whole process is still an outlet. Walking to the library clears my head, being in the actual building helps me zoom out of the WashU mentality, and I like to think that later, sitting with a book gives me yet another moment of calm.

So, when the U. City Library says they’re the “home for the best readers in the world,” they could be referring to you.