Right after 9/11, Kenny and I went to perform for the troops in Pakistan and Uzbekistan. As we were flying in, an electronic voice went off: “Warning: missile launch! Warning: missile launch!” The Taliban had fired a rocket at us. I was waiting to see the back of the plane blow up, but it didn’t and we landed.

I’m convinced heartache almost killed me a few years ago.

Scuba diving in Costa Rica. My stunt double and I were trying out some equipment that let us talk to each other and I ran out of air at 80ft - probably because I talked too much. I had to use his air. Then we were surrounded by sharks. It was scary.

In a helicopter crash in Wyoming in 2005. My cameraman broke his back and both legs; the pilot broke his back. The helicopter didn’t catch fire, so I’m still here today.

As someone who left the world around me a little kinder and less hierarchical.

I would love to have a good memory. I’m at an age when remembering something right away is as good as an orgasm.

In my 30s, I was staring at a pair of expensive boots in a shop window when the photographer Gordon Parks came up behind me. He instantly understood, because he grew up even poorer than me; he made me buy them on my credit card.

Seeing the future die, from Bobby Kennedy to dear friends.

First a horse rancher, then a dancer.

Dying just a millisecond before I was about to say something I really wanted the people I love to hear.