Candid Club

When I was younger, I’d ask my parents to leave me at the bookstore while they ran errands. I didn’t mind being alone. I’d sit on the floor for hours, reading whatever caught my eye, mostly Geronimo Stilton paperbacks (hey, I was a kid!). Nobody rushed me and I never felt like I had to buy anything. It was just a place I liked being in.

Lately, I’ve started noticing more people making space for bookstores again. Not in a big, obvious way. Just quietly. A new one opens in the neighborhood. An old one sticks around longer than expected. Friends start swapping paperbacks again. Someone posts a photo of a corner bookstore they stumbled across on a weekend trip.

It makes sense. Most of what we do now is online. We buy things fast, scroll through options, rely on recommendations that are generated for us. It’s efficient, but it’s also tiring. You start to miss the slower ways of doing things. You start to want places that don’t expect anything from you.

Bookstores still offer that. You walk in without a plan. Maybe you pick something up because the title sounds interesting. Maybe you don’t. The shelves aren’t trying to sell you anything. They’re just there. You move at your own pace, and no one interrupts.

It’s not that we’re avoiding technology. Most of us use e-readers. We order books online. We listen to audiobooks. But there’s something about walking into a bookstore and reading something you physically chose for yourself. You remember where you found it. You remember carrying it home. You remember reading it in bed or on the train or on a slow Sunday afternoon. It stays with you in a way that digital files usually don’t.

Bookstores also remind you that it’s okay to be in a place and not perform. You don’t have to post about it. You don’t need to have a list or a reason. You can go alone, stay for ten minutes, or get lost for two hours. No one expects anything from you. There’s a kind of relief in that.

These spaces have always been around, but the way people are returning to them now feels different. Genuine. Maybe because we’ve spent so much time online, we’re starting to want more places that feel real. Places that don’t require a password or a login. Places where you can think without being interrupted.

Bookstores don’t try to compete with everything else. They’re just there – steady, familiar, easy to return to. And maybe that’s exactly why people are finding their way back. Because it still works.

Sometimes you just want a quiet place to go, something to read, and no pressure to be anywhere else.

What did you read when you were younger? Do you remember the bookstore you found it in?