I know that a fair amount of the folks who stop by here on a regular basis aren’t librarians or information professionals, and as a result, I’ve mostly kept the library-related posts here to a minimum.

Today I saw a slide deck that I wanted to share with those of you who don’t use libraries, or whose idea of what libraries (and library staff) are capable of may be a bit out of date. Yes, there are 87 slides, but you’ll go through them pretty quickly, I promise.

In May 2012, it’ll be seven, no, eight years since I graduated from library school. The things I was interested in – content creation, blogging, using emerging technologies, and usability – weren’t a huge part of the curriculum when I started back in 2002. A huge shift has happened in a relatively short amount of time, and more than ever, librarians are talking about user experience and customer experience. Librarians have always hacked information, but it seems to me that a lot more of us are interested in getting our hands dirty with code and making stuff more awesome. People from outside the profession with an interest in open data are looking at us and pointing fingers, asking us why we still keep our information locked away in proprietary silos.

I’m encouraged. I’m excited.

But I still want more.

A couple of years ago, a friend of mine was looking to make a career change, and I suggested that he think about going to library school. The profession needed more people like him – gregarious, outgoing go-getters who bring a new perspective and a different face to the profession (this profession needs to racially diversify like whoa, but that’s the subject of another post). He’ll be graduating this spring, and he’s already working as an academic librarian in Louisiana, and if I can be completely self serving for a moment, I couldn’t be more proud of him.

Libraries need more people like this — more people like you – to work for us. I’m not going to beat the drum for an LIS education, because I have my own issues with the diploma mill mentality, churning out graduates into a market where the jobs are few and far between. What I would like to see, however, is more community partnerships where tech professionals volunteer to build applications for cash- and resource-strapped libraries: something like Google’s Summer of Code, or Code for America, but just for public libraries.

Libraries can make this happen by becoming more open than we’ve ever been before. Not only in terms of space (although that is really important), but we need to identify ways that we can remove whatever roadblocks exist between us and community partners who are ready and willing to help us take on our technological challenges. If there is a community organization that teaches computer courses that target a particular demographic, bring them in on a volunteer basis and let them teach your basics courses for a while. It’ll free up library staff to focus on other things (like community engagement, for example) and to get back to much needed professional development. If we could be guaranteed 10 hours a week to work on a fun project of our own, I believe we would see some truly innovative service models, programs, and technological solutions.

But what’s the best way to reach out? That’s something I’ll be trying to suss out over the next little while.

“OMG, all she does is post pictures of her cat these days. Her blog sucks now!”

Ella was a fearful, floor dwelling cat when she came to live with me. Other than the aggressive peeing she was doing to exert dominance, for the most part, she lurked around the apartment in a half-squat/half walk stance that showed just how afraid she was. Seeing her perched on the back of the couch is showing me that I’m making some progress with her behaviour modification. Safe Space for Cats is a big part of the change in her behaviour, too.

What is the difference between fear and cowardice? The dictionary definitions are somewhat similar:

fear |fi(ə)r|noun an unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain, or a threat:

cowardice |ˈkou-ərdəs|noun lack of bravery; lacking the courage to do or endure dangerous or unpleasant things

If I’m feeling fearful, it simply means that I’m aware of the dangers that may be lurking around the next corner, but that I’m ready to stand up to them. I don’t know what is around that corner, but I’m putting up my dukes, so to speak. If I’m feeling cowardly, it means that I am actively avoiding, if not running the hell away from the things that frighten me. A fearful person can be brave if given the opportunity, or if armed with enough self-confidence and support. A coward never can be, unless you’re the Cowardly Lion, which, by the end of the movie, most of us understood that he wasn’t so much cowardly as lacking confidence. But I’m losing the plot.

I’m writing this to own up to my cowardice. Oh my, yes. In the last few years, I’ve let cowardice shape almost every decision I make. I don’t write about professional topics that interest me because I don’t have the courage to stand up to scrutiny. I don’t write about things I’d like to change about my job because I don’t have the courage to defend my positions, especially if those positions are contrary to the library’s (or the profession’s) mission and purpose. I lack the courage to speak out because I like comfort, I want to be liked (not respected), I like having a roof over my head and steady paycheques, even though my satisfaction with my current position continues to speed downhill. I write very obliquely about things that happen in my personal life because I don’t have the backbone to face the reality of how my poor choices and inability to communicate causes my relationships to fail again and again.

Gandhi said “A coward is incapable of exhibiting love; it is the prerogative of the brave.” That’s me in spades. I tend to squelch any demonstrative feelings, whether positive or negative, because I’m afraid that those emotions won’t stand up under critical inquiry from others or from myself. There’s so much more I’d rather be doing, so many more things I’d rather be saying, but I won’t because I lack the stomach to defend myself against the critics. My strongest critic is, of course, myself.

When I’m wrestling with a particularly nasty depressive episode, I find that my ability to express passion for even the slightest thing is severely compromised. In his book The Noonday Demon, Andrew Solomon described depression as being “the flaw in love.”

“To be creatures who love, we must be creatures who can despair at what we lose, and depression is the mechanism of that despair. When it comes, it degrades one’s self and ultimately eclipses the capacity to give or receive affection.”

This has been the reality of my daily existence for at least the last three years. More if I’m being honest with myself.

It would feel wonderful to care enough to change, or rather, to feel that I deserve to change. I would be relieved to not feel this daily decay, to understand that my back will not break with the slightest wind, to have unshakable faith that this storm will not lay to waste whatever foundation I’ve created for myself. Depression has turned me into a coward who is afraid of her own reflection because she scarcely recognizes the wraith that stares back at her.

When I am depressed, I don’t believe I deserve affection, or praise, or attention. When I feel like I don’t deserve those things, I run away from anything that challenges me. It’s why I considered surrendering Ella to a cat rescue organization, because I believed I was a failure and a flop, and the only thing I know how to do in an unpleasant situation is to shut down, tuck my tail and run. It’s why I talked myself out of a job this afternoon, under the guise of “being honest about my limitations.” Mark Twain once said “You are a coward when you even seem to have backed down from a thing you openly set out to do”, and that’s exactly what happened to me today, has happened in the past, and until and unless this bout with depression passes, will likely happen again.

I hate to leave this without answers, or a plan of action that will make people think I’m doing something other than wallowing, or getting tripped up by my own narcissistic skirt-gathering, but now I’m at the point where just feeling unburdened enough to admit this openly feels like just the right amount of victory that I’m capable of handling at the moment.

(Photo by seriykotik1970 – http://flic.kr/p/Bj76V)

Last night’s ride home was clear, cool, and nearly silent. It was so quiet, I heard the sleepy quacks of a flock of ducks who were settling in for the night. Beyond that, all I could hear was the sound of my tires on pavement, the breath leaving and entering my lungs, and SkyTrain passing in the distance.

Nights like this are just perfect for riding.

There’s a blog post brewing in my head about this Fast Company article on Generation Flux and what that means to me, and how that may shape my role in this profession. I’ve often said that I don’t feel like a traditional librarian, and for the last few years, I’ve convinced myself that my non-traditional path is a liability. After reading this article, I’m certain that my varied path is an asset.

But I’m still not ready to put fingers to keys about it quite yet.

I’m reading The Magician King by Lev Grossman right now and enjoying it, though less than The Magicians. I came across this quote last night before settling in to sleep:

“That was the thing about the world: it wasn’t that things were harder than you thought they were going to be, it was that they were hard in ways that you didn’t expect.”

Ella is still with me for now. Giving her another chance seems like the right thing to do at this moment. It may turn out that I’m not what she needs, and if that’s the case I will have to learn to accept it, as hard as it may be.

I’m setting a rigid timeline, and I’m going to be introducing more structure into her life. If I don’t see real improvement, I’ll have to let her go and accept that this is not what I expected, and I am not a bad person for doing what is best for us both.

But I’m not ready to throw in the towel. Not yet. I want to fight for this little being. I want to fight for us both.

I’ve decided to keep Ella for the time being. This relationship deserves a second chance.

This is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to write.

I’m going to surrender Ella to a cat rescue group.

At the risk of opening myself up to a lot of judgemental comments from well-meaning cat advocates, let me say that this decision was not an easy one to make. This hurts to admit, and as I type this, I’m shedding copious amounts of giant, snotty tears. In just a few short weeks, this beautiful but troubled cat has completely stolen my heart, but now my heart is breaking because I feel like I’ve been pushed to the limit. There’s also a rhinoceros-sized lump of guilt sitting in my gut to go along with the heartbreak.

This started about three weeks ago, when Ella began peeing on my bed. She still uses her litterbox, so everything seems fine in Catbox Town. Friends who have cats convinced me that she was either distraught or ill, so I took her to the vet to try to rule out illness.

Two vet visits, conflicting diagnoses, and a $500 loan from a friend later, Ella was treated for a urinary tract infection that seems to have cleared up. But the treatment wasn’t without stress because the special prescription food the first vet ordered for her, when coupled with the liquid antibiotics I struggled to give her made her throw up. There’s nothing quite like the sound of a cat throwing up. There are two construction sites right across from my apartment, and I seriously thought the noise was coming from there until I realized it was only 6:15 am, and the construction doesn’t usually get underway until 7:30. But I digress.

Here is the litany of things I have tried thus far:

• Taking her to the vet
• Urinalysis
• Antibiotics, pain killers (which made her constipated), and prescription cat food
• X-Rays
• Blood work
• Buying toys
• Buying a cat tree
• Buying special (and expensive) feline pheromone sprays and diffusers to try to relax her
• Buying holistic herbal remedies to try to relax her
• Spending more time with her/paying more attention to her
• Making sure she has someplace to hide
• Making sure she can look out of the window
• Making sure she has something to climb
• Singing songs with her name in it – yes, this was actual advice I received, and I tried it.
• Changing her cat litter.
• Going back to her old cat litter.
• Changing her to wet cat food.
• Changing her to dry cat food.
• Feeding her premium cat food.
• Feeding her cheap cat food, because that’s what she likes.
• Putting foil on the bed, because cats won’t walk on foil – this actually seemed to work, but I can’t sleep on aluminum foil.
• Stocking up on expensive enzyme cleaners to completely remove the smell where she’s marked before.

That seems like a lot for six weeks of care, and it is. Some say that’s too many changes in too short of a time, while others suggest that I keep trying. Someone suggested that I was trying too hard. When I heard that, I think I heard and felt my blood pressure skyrocket.

The bed wetting and acting out is getting worse. Typically she only wet the bed when I wasn’t around, but two nights ago, she did a little dance and peed on the bed while I was looking right at her. This morning I woke to find that the little darling had wet the bed while I was sleeping in it, thereby going to the bathroom on me in the process.

I have never in my life felt murderous rage and crushing disappointment at the same time, but I felt it this morning.

This cat isn’t happy. She isn’t happy here, and she isn’t happy with me. She withdraws from my hand when I try to pet her, she turns her back on me when I sit near her, and if by some miracle she allows me to stroke her cheeks or scratch her under the chin, her tail twitches violently, indicating just how annoyed with me she really is.

I chose a pet because I thought it would teach me patience, and would help me learn to love myself and trust people again. I chose Ella because my heart went out to this little kitty who had been abandoned, terrorized (by other cats), and shuttled around between homes several times in just four short years. I wanted to give her a home, stability, a warm, soft place to rest her head, and all the love she could handle. But the staggering anxiety I’ve felt in the last few weeks can’t be good for me. I know it isn’t good for her.

So there you have it. I’m a horrible person. I’m treating a living being like a faulty toaster. And I totally hate myself for it.

Meet my new roommate, Ella. I never thought of myself as much of a cat person, but I realized that if I got a dog, I wouldn’t be able to concentrate at work for worrying about leaving it alone all day. But cats? Cats are pretty self-sufficient. Or so I’ve heard.

Ella was left behind when her previous owners moved away. The family that took her in wanted to keep her, but she didn’t get along with the other cat in the household. Right now she’s doing a fair amount of hiding, but when I turn my back, she’s often walking around the perimeter of my apartment, checking things out. I’m taking that as a good sign.

Today was one of those days that I’ve heard other public librarians talk about, but had never experienced myself. Without going into detail (because I like being employed, yo), I will simply say that this city and province really needs to devote more money to services and support for the mentally ill. What would be even better would be if we could dedicate space to a social service agency within the library, so that patrons who needed those kinds of services wouldn’t have to travel very far.

To top it off, it is November in Vancouver which means icy rain finds its way under all my waterproof bike gear, no matter how careful I am. And let’s be honest, I’m not all that careful, what with there being a lack of proper cycling gear for people who require Omar the Tentmaker sizes.

As I rode home and felt rivulets run down my ankles and into my Danskos, all I could think was “After a day like today, I could use a drink. And a beer won’t do.” I knew I needed something akin to liquid fire, something that twists and meanders down my throat and fills my body with fluid, sweet-tasting embers that last and last. So I stopped at The Most Amazing Liquor Store on Earth ™, careful not to drip too much on their floors and counters, and treated myself to a bottle of Knob Creek. And trust me when I tell you, it is truly a treat.

I mean – just look at this face.

Seconds after I snapped this photo, a 120 KM/h wind gust was recorded at the airport.