”There wasn’t even the faintest chance that a train would ever pass through here again. That thought struck him with the inescapable truth that an era had come to an end.”

I’m far from Shingo’s age, but this feels like such a universal experience. To visit a place that used to be so familiar to you and see that it isn’t and can never be the same, but also acknowledge that it can be something just as meaningful to the next generation. It’s sad, and it’s hopeful, too.

I work in the elementary school that I went to growing up, and when I started working there a few years ago, the library looked exactly the same as it did as when I frequented it as a kid: tall, wooden shelves, deep green rugs, wooden tables and chairs. It felt like home, and I loved that I got to revisit it as an adult. Two years ago, they redid it, and now it’s filled with colorful shelves and lots of cozy seating. It’s beautiful, but it’s not mine. I grieved the loss of a place that was so formative for me, and yet I can appreciate how the new version will be just as valuable to the students going to school now. They’ll remember a rainbow room full of wonder. The end of an era, yes. But the start of a new one, too.