The House of Wisdom

For those of you who know me, you're aware that New York is not my cup of tea. The city's corporate and formal attitude is completely different from the laid back, casual appeal of Boston. Money is always tight, and the aesthetic demands of my job keep me thinking I need to spend money on clothes. This once leisurely activity is now conspicuously job-related. Every major corporation has offices in New York, and the streets are dominated by heels clicking on the pavement and voices chattering away on cell phones.

In the midst of all of this is the New York Public Library's Humanities and Social Sciences Library in Bryant Park. Just a block away from the Conde Nast building, a veritable monument to conspicuous consumption, the library is a quiet and inspirational haven, filled with the whispers of human history. Flanked by Patience and Fortitude, the lions which have become the institute's symbols, this monolith of early 20th century architecture houses one of the most valuable collections in the country.

Yesterday I visited the library and spoke to the librarian in charge of the rare books division. I saw a first edition Derrida, a 17th century copy of Vetruvius' treaty on architecture, and a 15th century liturgical manuscript, one of the last of its kind, produced during the dawn of the printing press. I was inspired like I hadn't been in a long time. That rush of intellectual curiosity came streaming back, missing since my final days as an undergraduate at Boston College. This all-consuming wonder, I thought as I held a leather-bound volume, is what really matters in this world. My corporate job seemed distant, almost a figment of my imagination.

After nearly an hour chatting with the librarian, I felt heavy reality settling in. I clicked back to my office in Times Square, slicing through the warm air with my sense of wonder clinging to me desparately, unwilling to be brushed away by the phones and e-mails awaiting my return. The corporate world felt surreal; my job, meaningless in the face of what I had experienced within those marble walls.

I think something in us dies when we sign over our lives to faceless corporations. We don't stop and think about what's beautiful in this world. We spend our lives trying to substitute our lost sense of wonder with products that never quite fill the hole. We work jobs that we hate because they give us a six figure paycheck, not a penny of which will buy us true satisfaction. Every day we walk by places like the NYPL Humanities Library and never enter. I don't want to make sweeping claims about our souls being lost to materialism, but having spent 3 months in a stark office with naught but one picture frame on the wall makes even the glossy magazines in the reception area look dull.