One autumn in Europe, when I was nineteen, I found myself reassured that the world was populated with bright, beautiful, generous people. I knew there were rogue elements of ill-intent out there, but I assumed with a keen eye and a quick wit I would manage to steer clear of them. I was mistaken. When the lenses of my rose-colored glasses shattered, the lingering residue was an unrelenting urgency to infuse my life with meaning. "The Year of the Wind" is the story of that journey.