I drove across a sunny, frozen New York State at a sensible 62 miles per hour—the speed limit was a conservative 55 at the time—feeling anxious and excited to meet whatever was out there for me. There was a feeling that my life was finally starting now, that all the pretense and training was over. I’d followed a path up to this point—school, followed by more school. There probably would be more school in the not-so-distant future for me—I liked the structure of school; I liked dining halls and dormitories; I wanted to become a tweed jacket-wearing teacher and write…