Of course, I look back. In the last 12 months, I went to the desert more than ever before (always respecting it), learnt so much it would be hard to start describing how much (a lot, that’s how much), spent a night in an empty airport (with a tornado approaching), completed an academic pictorial/cinematic turn (which was long coming), bought so many books I am not sure about the logistics of making them cross the Atlantic, discovered great software for presentations (Prezi), had tons of Mexican food (and some Thai), almost grew a beard and almost shaved my hair, gushed over a new Steve Erickson novel, made a bunch of new friends and managed not to lose any old ones (unless someone is not telling me something), scrounged a bagful of Jack Chic comics in “Los Jilbertos,” finally had two ideas I am fairly confident are actually fairly original and fully mine, ate more fruit and vegetables than in the last 5 years, and thought about the previous 42 birthdays (ok, about 10 or so). And remembered every single day how lucky I am. And yet, I have never looked forward more than I do now. It is so cool to be 43. You don’t have to believe me. You’ll be there (if you weren’t already, that is).