These days, there are so many convenient ways to find exactly what you you’re looking for, digitally and at home. Need an item of very particular colors and dimensions? You can shop a whole world of goods online, using filters narrowed to your specific demands. Want to watch that movie you’ve thoroughly vetted through reviews and word-of-mouth? Search “where to watch…” and you can find your preferred format and platform.

The library has kept pace with this trend with an app, online catalog, easy holds system with drive-thru pickup, curated book lists, and instant digital downloads.

It’s all great. Super convenient. It also isn’t the only way to do things.

Let’s give a moment of praise and reflection to the art of browsing. Browsing – without defined goals or pre-conceived notions – exposes us to new and delightful things. You don’t know what’s on the next shelf, not exactly, just like you very often don’t actually know what you need…not exactly. Whether it’s a shiny item from the New Books collection, an eye-catching cover set out on display, or the book next to the one you came for, the library holds plenty of opportunities for unexpected discovery.

I find that I make different choices and have different experiences when I start a search with “exactly what I need” in mind, versus when I take an open approach and meander after what piques my interest. In the first case, I’m checking something off my long…ever growing… absurd list of Books I Want to Read Before I Die (or, my “TBR,” as the cool kids say). If I browse, I’m walking away with a cookbook full of lovely dishes I probably won’t actually make before returning the book, something on houseplants that’s surprisingly relevant to my current problem with an aloe that seems determined to die, a book of beautiful architecture (because beautiful architecture is good for the soul), and a Shakespeare play I forgot existed and never got around to reading in college.

Both experiences are satisfying, but browsing adds a little of the sweet mystique of a treasure hunt. It requires a sense of leisure that is too often lacking, and imbues the experience with a bit of wonder and triumph (“Here’s this cool thing I had no idea of when I came here – but I found it!”). Taking a chance at discovering an unknown gem can really pay off; in fact, when I think of the books, films, and music that made the greatest impact on me, the list is mostly comprised of things I stumbled across more than sought: a paperback I found at a garage sale and bought because the title reminded me of a Bob Dylan lyric,* a film playing on TCM when I happened to tune in, a guitarist who popped up on YouTube’s autoplay.

We often like to include lists of recommended relevant materials at the end of these blogs. Not this time: no lists, no planning.

Get in here and browse, my friends.

*If you’d like to replicate this experience of a low-cost gamble purchase, try the Friends of the Library Bookstore. You never know what you’ll find there, but at the cost of mere dollars, you don’t have much to lose.