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Over the past month I’ve been looking for an appropriate analogy regarding the job search. The best I’ve been able to articulate is comparing it to being in a dark, crowded, and noisy bar. You’ve had a couple of drinks, you see a girl, and you try to talk to her. Except…

Except she’s not at all interested in you and there are about 37 other guys—most better dressed and better looking than you—trying to do the same thing. Sure, if she got the chance to talk to you, she’d find out that you’d be a great date, you could be charming, you could impress, you could make her laugh, you have the determination to be great, and you two could be a great fit. Except the process—the bar, the noise, the richer and better-dressed competition—negates anything that really makes you stand out and, in a word, it’s frustrating.

And, inevitably, you begin to not only question yourself but you get caught up in the hype; after all, if 37 others are after her, she’s got to be something great, right? As you buy into that, you buy into the next lie: if she turns you down, then that’s a mark on you as a person.

Yet, against all odds, you manage to score the interview. You sing a little Simon & Garfunkel (Jubilation! She loves me again) and show up to the interview. Three people on one side of the table, and on the other is nervous, sweaty, and dry-throated you. All of the sudden, you find yourself sitting there and wondering “What the hell am I doing here? Is this even the job I really want? Is this where I want to be in one, three, or five years? Holy crap, where do I want to be in one, three, or five years?”

You look across the table at the person asking you questions like what kind of tree you’d be (Proper Answer: Oak because it’s stoic, resistant to the elements, and propagates like an arboreal rabbit. Awesome answer: Japanese Maple because, while short, it’s good-looking, can thrive under pressure, and really appreciates lots of sun and water).

Anyway, there I was, looking across the table at the person who wants me to be an oak tree and I realize that I don’t want to be an oak or a pine tree. This isn’t where I want to be. This all happened late last week, by the way.

Since then, I’ve come to a decision.

Instead of freaking out and questioning my self worth, I’m going to recognize it, calm down, and take the long view of this entire thing. I’m lucky enough to have some money coming in; a roof over my head; a network of supportive individuals who, all evidence to the contrary, continue to and firmly believe in me and my potential; a law degree; and some ambition. I’m going to be deliberate about this, network as much as I can, cultivate contacts and opportunities, and convince someone to let me build my dream job. I won’t settle, and I won’t get caught up in the hype.

I’ll step outside the bar and look for something I really want.

I saw the Fox logo and read the title: Are Libraries Necessary or a Waste of Tax Money?. I paused, blinked twice, and read the first paragraph:

They eat up millions of your hard earned tax dollars. It’s money that could be used to keep your child’s school running. So with the internet and e-books, do we really need millions for libraries?

The premise left me aghast for a bit.

Surely, this was a satire.

Surely, we can all agree that repositories of knowledge and ideas deserve more – not less – funding, even in hard times. Surely, I can’t be the only one whose memories of summer vacation include hours upon hours spent in air conditioned libraries reading everything and anything I could get my hands on. Surely, we can all confidently say that we are better individuals directly as a consequence of librarians, and the temples to learning, imagination, and articulation that libraries represent.

Are libraries anachronistic? Literacy programs, language assistance, access to job information, free access to internet, book clubs, and – at the very least – a place for people to meet, discuss ideas (albeit quietly), and to read. I’d venture to say that libraries are quite relevant in this day and age.

If fidelity’s core is about fulfilling one’s duty — one’s trust — then we have a responsibility to ensure that those who are not as fortunate as we are at least have a shot to the opportunities that you and I have had throughout our lives. As Mary A. Dempsey, the Chicago Public Library Commissioner, wrote in response to this story:

There continues to exist in this country a vast digital divide. It exists along lines of race and class and is only bridged consistently and equitably through the free access provided by the Chicago Public Library and all public libraries in this nation. Some 60 percent of the individuals who use public computers a Chicago’s libraries are searching for and applying for jobs. We’re proud to continue to be able to use our resources to help them do so.

Libraries matter because information and knowledge matter. Information and knowledge lead to opportunities. And opportunities for all…well, that’s what this country is about, isn’t it? The dream isn’t about the house and the picket fence per se, it’s about what that house represents. It represents opportunity.

It’s much more than a PSA catch slogan, it’s a Truth. But with all truths, it’s easy to say, though easy to forget and misplace. Let’s not forget this, people. Even in the hardest of times – especially in the hardest of times – access to information matters a great deal to all of us.

Libraries matter. Libraries are necessary.

The thing about fathers and sons is that the relationship is never easily defined. Relationships that matter are never static but always in a state of flux – changing, reverting, evolving. Always [verb]-ing like an ocean with depths reaching down to the Marina trench and with a history as wide as the Pacific. After all, where does the Pacific really end? Find me a border and tell that to the water.

There’s a picture of me running down a hall – arms open, dirty blond hair flailing (bowl haircut, naturally), and a smile beaming from the 3 year old’s face – and into the arms of my father. There’s another picture, 20 years later, of father and son in the middle of Nanjing – arms around each other after having climbed up a pretty impressive set of stairs on a particularly warm and muggy day in April. I look at the latter picture, pictured above, with great fondness and affection because it reminds me of some of the best lessons I’ve learned from my father.

I lived in China for a little over year starting back in March of 2005. My first month was really tough for me – culture shock, living far away from any friends or family, and learning a difficult language from scratch. I buckled under the pressure and life-changes and hid away in my apartment for much of March. I worried about the “what ifs” – What if I say the wrong phrase? What if I don’t make friends? What if I do poorly in my classes? What if I never learn the language?

To clarify, my fears are rarely about my safety, getting mugged, or becoming lost; indeed, they’re all about just doing a thing in the first place – going outside, getting groceries, meeting new people. After all, it’s easier to stay home, right? At least at home nothing will go wrong. Or I tell myself that I’m not yet ready – my language is not yet perfect, there are more lists to write, more objections to anticipate, etc. I’ll go out or take the chance when I’m ready.

My father is a whirlwind of energy. He is amiable, everyone likes him instantly, he knows enough about everything so as to find a way to talk to anyone from farmer to statesman. He is genuinely curious as to everyone’s story and lacks pretension.

Up until that visit, I always focused entirely on the end result: a guy who’s successful, knowledgeable, and everyone seems to like and remember. I simply assumed – bitterly and enviously, I might add – that he had some natural talent that I had not inherited.

He came to visit, we went to new places, we negotiated with cabbies, we ordered from hole-in-the-wall restaurants where no one spoke any English or Spanish, and we did it all together.

I was in awe.

He doesn’t speak Chinese yet everyone understood him. He didn’t know any of these places but that didn’t slow him down at all. Aside from me, he didn’t know anyone in Nanjing yet by the end it was as if he had befriended half of the cabbies, shopkeepers, pedestrians, and restaurant owners in the city of 7 million.

It was then that I finally understood something that my father had been repeating to me for years before: Felix Culpa, The Blessed and Fortunate Fall.

You learn and live in the doing of it. You will take chances and you will certainly fall and fail and bleed and hurt. But you will learn from those experiences and turn them into blessed mistakes that allow you to grow and become a fuller individual. You will speak poor Chinese and mistake verbs and you will get laughed at, but you will be remembered and most importantly, you will remember. You will never make that mistake again and you will have a story to tell people that will make them laugh and like you for you.

You will avoid pretension because you will remember all the times you fell. You will remember that everyone has a story to tell – a story that matters a great deal to them and you should recognize how important it is that they, be they statesmen or farmers, wish to share it with you. You will always be in a state of constant wonder and amazement and you will rejoice at your mistakes because each and every one will serve to remind you that you are alive and that you still have so much left to learn.

So, on this Father’s Day I wish to let him know how much I love him, how much I appreciate him, and how important he is in my life.

Happy Father’s Day, everyone.