Last week, at the end of a roundtable discussion with other English language tutors at my local library, I casually remarked that whenever I need my faith in humanity restored, I go to the library.
Libraries are wonderful in part because of all the free things you can access there: books in print and on audio, technology such as computers and scanners, and all manner of things such as games, puzzles, and toys. I also love libraries because they are one of the few places where you can hang out in public without having to buy anything: a common good freely available to all.
What I didn’t tell that fellow tutor is this: I’m constantly on the lookout for things to restore my faith in humanity. Every day, my phone sends me alerts with news that ranges from bad to worse. There is ample evidence that people can be wretched, rotten, and corrupt beyond measure. If you want examples of people being kind and considerate, you have to have a keener eye, as these examples won’t seek you out.
So, whenever I see a lost object that some anonymous passerby has placed in a prominent spot, I take note. What small kindness prompts someone to pick up dropped keys, lost glasses, or a forgotten pacifier, then put it in a place where the rightful owner might retrace their tracks to find it?
Whenever I see lost things set out to be found, I imagine an entire story of loss and hope and redemption: because of an anonymous stranger, a thing that was lost might in the future be found.
Hoarded Ordinaries 