A: Because he’s still David fucking Bowie, that’s why.

It was one year ago today that the news came over that David Robert Jones a/k/a Bowie had shuffled off this mortal coil. Many of us actually learned of it in the wee hours of the 11th — I for one found myself strangely sleepless, ambled downstairs about 3 in the morning, and saw a text informing me of the news. Groggy and unsure how to process such a momentous event, I poured and downed a good-sized vodka and went back to bed, tossing and turning half-conscious for a few hours before awakening for the first time to a Bowieless world.

In the aftermath, I was surprised and gratified by the worldwide outpouring of love and grief. Gratified because suddenly it seemed like everyone was a Bowie fan, and while there was a certain amount of obligatory blather and groupthink, the vast majority of it seemed to be sincere. Surprised because, while I knew that we Bowie cultists were many, I had no idea it ran so deep and so wide.

It made me realize that Bowie, patron saint of the Outsider, had a special meaning to anyone who’s ever felt different or weird or alienated or marginalized. Which, it turns out, is just about everyone. It’s just that many of us, by definition, are not joiners, so we end up spread out in our various little tribes. But when you put us all together, we are legion.

For a while there — and it still hasn’t entirely gone away — everywhere I turned, there he was: As a mannequin in a display in the local thrift shop; spraypainted on the sidewalk; blaring out of hidden speakers in some unexpected place. It was almost enough to give you hope for humanity.

And we need that, always, but especially now. Thank you David, and thank you Earth people. Maybe this could be a good year after all? Let’s give it a shot.