Apparently, it's my day for struggling not to make public scenes.
First, I had to take several gulps of tea to keep from laughing out loud at the middle-aged blonde with three sizes of wedding dresses in her closet.
Then, I started reading the correspondence I came here to find. OMG! OMG! OMG! I wanted to find people in the hallways and read to them. Or make them read. Just share with someone. Anyone. A couple of times, I gasped so loudly everyone in the room looked up and stared.
Tomorrow I'm having lunch with the archivist, and I can hardly wait. She's read every word and I can't wait to ask questions and compare notes and laugh. And laugh. And laugh.
It's a little crazy to drive 800 miles (1600 round trip) to read a bunch of old letters when you don't have any idea whether they include anything you need or want for a story you're not sure you're capable of writing. It's a little crazy to spend all day reading in a library and then all night working to keep up with regular work. It's a little crazy to spend time and money chasing dreams.
Except it's not. I'm going to get old if I'm lucky and die someday, no matter what. I might as well chase my dreams, even when they lead me through the Michigan woods in the dark, unsure of where I am, where I'm going, or what I'll find when I get there.
This is exactly the life I want to live.