Ghost stories.

I love a good ghost story.

The tingly feeling of glimpsing someone from the distant past, the deep and unexplainable connection to a person who still exists—but is not anymore in this sphere—and the thrill of touching something that a once-living person touched centuries ago….it’s intoxicating.

Except I don’t believe in ghosts.

The ghosts I chase are found in records, spirits of the past which slip through documents and photographs, paintings and other primary sources. They appear seemingly out of nowhere, their names emerging on census or immigration records and then vanishing for decades until the most relentless of historians rediscovers them.

It’s thrilling even without involving the spirit world.

Because no matter how calculated and strategic the job of a historian is, there is still an undercurrent of mystery that begs to be pursued:
Who is this person?
Where did they come from?
How did they live?
What did they experience?
How did their life impact others?
How did life impact them?
Where do they fit in the big picture?

Researching the past and the people who lived there is one part historical methodology and two parts sleuthing. It takes someone who loves the chase….and just won’t let it go.

The best ghost stories—I have found—are the real ones: the stories of regular people who walked this earth, lived and loved, and one day left it.

Just like we all will.