This article, by Meghan Wiggins, was originally published in the Arizona Daily Star on August 18, 2025.
I grew up five minutes from my local library, a short drive that became one of the most frequent and meaningful routines of my childhood. That quick drive became a regular part of my week. Nothing dramatic, but it ended up meaning more than I ever expected.
As a child, I would beg my dad to take me to the library. I didn't fully understand everything it had to offer, but I loved being there. I'd walk through the doors and head straight for the children's DVD section, picking out as many movies as I could carry. Part of the fun was watching them at home, but the excitement came from checking them out myself. Back then, DVDs came in special cases that had to be “unlocked” at the library with a machine. My sister and I were obsessed with it. We’d slide the case into the machine, hear the click, and pull it out like we'd just cracked open a treasure chest. Somehow, that one step made the whole thing feel more exciting.
As I got older, the library remained part of my life. In high school, while many of my friends studied at home or not at all, I returned to the library. My friends and I would meet in the Teen Zone, which had big whiteboards, spacious tables, and a row of computers. It was a space built just for us, equal parts productive and relaxed. Or maybe it was just a good excuse to hang out with friends. We used that corner to study for finals, prep for big presentations, and write important papers. What could've been just another school assignment became a shared experience we looked forward to. It wasn't just a space to work, but a space to stay connected.
Eventually, my relationship with the library shifted from visitor to employee when I applied for my first job as a page. The same building that had been a backdrop to my childhood became the place where I earned my first paycheck. I shelved books, tidied up displays, and helped patrons find what they were looking for. The work might have seemed routine from the outside, but to me, it was personal. I was part of something that had given me so much over the years.
It opened my eyes to just how much the library does for the community. I saw people using the space in ways I hadn't thought about, like searching for jobs, learning to use a computer, attending events, or enjoying quiet moments alone. I helped children choose chapter books, assisted people printing resumes, and shelved materials. Turns out, no matter how many books you shelve, there's always another cat waiting around the corner. It is steady, meaningful work that connects me to others in a way I hadn't experienced.
I started to see how much people relied on the library, their reasons for coming in, and the effort it took to keep everything accessible and welcoming.
To me, and many others, the library has always been more than a building. It's a space that meets people where they are. It was there for me when I was eight and wanted to watch movies. It was there when I was fifteen and needed a place to study. It was there when I needed a job. And along the way, it always gave me what I needed.
I'm grateful for the consistent presence the library has had in my life. It gave me room to explore interests, space to focus, and a community I gradually became a part of. The library is a steady, welcoming place that quietly became important to me, and for that, I'll always be thankful.
If you haven't visited lately, maybe it's time to stop by. You never know what part it might play in your story.
Meghan Wiggins will celebrate her eighth anniversary at Pima County Public Library in November. She has been praised by colleagues and customers for her extreme helpfulness, positivity, and adaptability. In her spare time, she enjoys photography.
