When I was little, I dreamed of having my own library, straight out of Beauty and the Beast with bookcases so tall I would need a ladder to reach the top shelf. I also dreamed of being president, with the intention of banning all high-kill animal shelters. Big dreams, yes, but each summer I take one step closer to both.

Every August, my guest room becomes my oasis. Thousands of pages pass through its doors, from well-loved classics to popular titles of modern literature. I purposefully pile boxes of books throughout the room, packed so tightly I have to pick my way through the minefield of novels. However, my library is temporary. Every year, once no remnant of the shaggy carpet remains, I take every last edition and sell them to raise money for Canine Health Education and Welfare (CHEW) Dog Rescue.

The first year I ran the Books for Barks sale, I was a nerdy sixth grader who spent weekends at adoption events, a rescue in my lap and a book in my hand, so I was ecstatic when CHEW’s president asked me to organize the fundraiser. I followed blueprints for a modest sidewalk sale, but after a post-pandemic hiatus, we were forced to find a new location. I made proposals to a farm store for the use of their community hall, liaised with a bookstore to collect donations, and pitched our cause to businesses for support. Originally daunted by the task, my voice shook when I spoke to owners, but with years of practice, I led purposeful conversations with a proud demeanor and lifted chest.

I sort hundreds of books every year based on genre, a make-believe librarian whose fiction-obsessed fingers linger on every edition in the room. During set-up, I command my volunteers like a conductor, and the hall is made anew with a display of novels on each table. Now, in my sixth year of sales, I look around at these tables, books stacked like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. My mind flashes to the very first year of the sale, folding tables parked on the sidewalk outside of Mudbay. In a way, the growth between the sale then and now mirrors my own growth. Originally, my idea of success started simply: meeting a price goal. Each year since then, I've created new meanings, such as improving the quality of the event or educating people about CHEW’s cause. However, my personal definition is that true success comes from fulfillment. This is my “why” behind the sale, the feeling that has me running back every year. I apply this definition of success to all aspects of my life. When my perfectionist mindset focuses only on achievements and failures, I search for fulfillment. In doing this, I see the effort behind the outcome. A misstep in my dance piece becomes obsolete when I think about the joy I experienced, or an A- on a test becomes an accomplishment when I think about how much I studied. While I search for this meaning, I break down many American standards. In a world where people are often defined by how “successful” they are, choosing fulfillment takes courage and nerve.

While I can confidently say I will never be president, and my crammed bookshelves will likely be the closest I get to Belle’s library, I have fulfilled both dreams through Books for Barks. In creating something meaningful from imagination, effort, and service, I have learned that the American Dream is not about status, but impact. I’m not able to ban high-kill animal shelters from existence, but I can help save dogs sentenced to euthanasia by raising money and awareness for CHEW Dog Rescue. I don’t have my own library, but I can make books accessible to everyone by reselling gently used editions. I’d call that a success.

© Maddie. All rights reserved. If you are interested in quoting this story, contact the national team and we can put you in touch with the author’s teacher.