A Love Letter to Curtis Memorial Library
I recently stood in a packed lobby at Curtis Memorial Library (CML) in Brunswick, Maine, waiting for someone to cut a ribbon.
The ribbon was for a redesigned lobby. Not a new wing. Not a new building. A lobby that had been under construction for a few months.
And there were people everywhere. People from all over the community, including many people I knew from various parts of my life. I kept looking around thinking, all of these folks came out for a lobby.
That’s when I knew I wanted to write a love letter to CML.
I rarely check out books from CML. And I’m there several days a week. That gap is the whole story. CML is a library. It’s also so much more than books, and calling it a library almost does it an injustice.
When Becca and I were choosing to move to Brunswick, walkability was key for us. But walkability to what? We landed two blocks from the library. At the time that just sounded nice. I don’t think either of us understood what we were actually moving next to.
As I stood there, listening to people talk about their relationship with CML, I couldn’t help but think about mine. It might sound weird to talk about a relationship with a place. A building. But I think that is a critical element of community.
So here is a little story of my relationship to CML, told as a love letter.
Dear Curtis Memorial Library,
In December of 2024, I sat in your fireplace room and started writing a paper called “If We Want to Heal the World, We Need to Heal Men.” I didn’t finish it there. But I started it there.
That paper led me onto the Heart-Strong Adventure. The adventure led to Heart-Strong becoming an actual nonprofit. And that has become my life’s work, although I don’t like calling it work. I like calling it play.
All of it started in a chair by a fireplace in a building I didn’t pay to walk into.
When I walk your halls, I walk through my own life. Different rooms hold different things.
The fireplace room in the winter. The outdoor courtyard in the summer. A seminar room where the Heart-Strong board recently held our visioning meeting.
A few days ago, I sat down with one of your staff to learn how to use the photo scanner, because I had a stack of childhood photos I needed to send to the illustrator of one of the children’s books I am working on. That book will come to life in part because one of your people made time for me.
I’ve come to you to hear talks. Sourcing food from trees. Unpacking Wabanaki history in Maine. I’ve come to see the art on your walls.
Years ago, when we were piloting our first WILD (Wilderness Immersion Leadership Development) retreat, I checked out a coffee carafe from you so we could have hot coffee ready in the morning.
Yes, a coffee carafe. From the library.
That carafe came from your Library of Things, which might be one of my favorite things in Brunswick.
Each winter my wife Becca and I do Library of Things dates. We check something out and build a night around it. We’ve made ravioli. We’ve made pierogies. We’ve traveled to countries like Turkey without leaving town.
And as with all healthy relationships, the flow of love needs to go both ways. So, we give back to you too. We’ve donated several things including all my beer brewing equipment. I wasn’t using it. Someone else can use it now. And if I ever want it back for a weekend, I can check it out.
I gave something away and lost nothing. That is not how ownership usually works.
Your new lobby is beautiful. Your whole building is beautiful. But that is not what I’m writing to.
I’m writing to the community of people who make you what you are. The people on your staff. The people who volunteer. The people who sit on your board. The people who show up to hear a talk about trees on a weeknight.
None of what I’ve described happens because of architecture. It happens because a group of people decided a library should hold people, not just books. Then they went and did that, year after year, mostly without anybody writing it down.
And here’s how this comes around.
For the past few months, Heart-Strong has been doing a pop-up art show and fundraiser called FROM WITHIN. Paintings by 5 incarcerated artists at Lawrenceville Correctional Center in Virginia. It’s been to ReVision Energy, Orange Bike Brewing, The Mix, and Reverie Coffeehouse.1
The closing show is August 14, and you’re the one hosting it.
When I reached out to ask, the answer was an enthusiastic YES!
I can’t get over the shape of that. You gave me the room where this whole thing started. Now you’re hosting the last show of one of the things that room helped to start.
One more thing. August 14 is Valentine’s Day’s half birthday. For me that’s a day when we can actually celebrate the true meaning of love. Curiosity. Compassion. Connection. And not consumerism.
With heart and gratitude,
Jeremy
We tend to save love letters for special occasions. Falling in love. Eulogies. Romance and death.
Those are certainly great times for them. But there are so many moments in everyday life where we could express love with a simple letter.
Most of the places and people holding our communities together will never hear that anybody noticed. But they just keep showing up. The doors unlock. The lights come on. The library opens.
If there’s a place like CML in your town, I’d love to hear about it. And if you get the chance, tell them. Out loud. While they’re still there to hear it.
And if you’re anywhere near Brunswick on August 14, I would love for you to come to the closing show of FROM WITHIN.
I hope you enjoyed this love letter, and I plan to keep writing more. Because if there is one thing the world can use more of, I think it is love letters.
This Substack is a production of Heart-Strong, a nonprofit centered around a simple belief. The world works better, for everyone and everything in it, when more of us are pulled by love than controlled by fear. Our work is focused on making love cool again. And we know we can’t do it alone. We have an open invite for anyone curious about what that world could look like. Learn more at www.heart-strong.org.
A Love Letter to Reverie and All the Great Third Places Out There
Third places are disappearing. Those spaces between home and work where community forms naturally. I’m lucky enough to have one.







