I won’t forget what a friend wrote me on Facebook. He heard I had visited all 50 states and said my accomplishment bordered on “outstanding.”

“Congratulations!” he told me.

His flattery almost led me to blush. While I don’t believe what I did in late ’21 will make me a candidate for the next Ken Burns documentary, I’ve come to realize I’m in select company: folks who have visited every state.

I suppose that makes me as rare as a Colombian dwarf gecko, although I’m hopeful that doesn’t suggest I’m as emptyheaded as a sloth. For who builds a bucket list with hitting 50 states as a target?

Not many.

In 2016, Livablity.com teamed with Ipsos Public Affairs for a research report on travel. According to their figures, the average American has 12 states on an I’ve-been-there list, so my 50 was, well, remarkable.

I then turned to that indispensable internet tool — I’m talking Google here — to find concrete numbers. I failed. The best guesstimate was less than 1 percent of my fellow Americans had hit all 50, and the percentage among Black men was surely tinier.

Why that was seemed logical: Few had reasons to.

I had none either till about eight years ago. Another friend posed an intriguing question on Facebook: How many states have you been to?

I weighed his question and then sat down and counted. I set rules, which included I had to have had a meal in the state. I couldn’t count layovers at an airport unless I branched out and roamed the surrounding city.

With these as my guiding lights, my count resumed. I had little trouble figuring out the states I’d been to, but two or three proved puzzlers.

Had I been to Nebraska? If so, when?

Ah, yes, for the NCAA men’s basketball tournament in 1988.

How about Utah and Idaho?

I checked the boxes on both. St. George, Utah, on my leisurely move to Seattle; Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, on my slow-as-molasses journey back east.

When I concluded my counting, I stood at 44 states. Missing were Maine, Vermont, New Hampshire, New Mexico, Hawaii and Alaska.

I knocked off Hawaii and Alaska, the costliest states to visit, in 2018. New Hampshire, Maine and Vermont came off on one trip, all three in the pre-pandemic period of 2019.

That left one state: New Mexico.

Booking a trip to Albuquerque for 2021, I hopped on a flight December 9. When the jet touched the tarmac at Albuquerque International Sunport, I had one fewer item on my bucket list.

Modesty, of course, can be a beguiling trait, but I see no purpose in pretending I ain’t proud of what I’ve done. I brag about it to everybody who bothers to listen; I hector those who don’t want to listen into listening anyway.

At ballparks, in restaurants, on phone calls, Twitter, Instagram … if our paths cross, you’ll hear me wax on and on about my “extraordinary” achievement. You’ll hear about it over and over and …

C’mon, I’m a “1-percenter”! Heck, I’m better than a 1-percenter, for less than 1 percent have enjoyed the full splendor of America the beautiful.

My Facebook friend lauded me.

“I admire you for setting a very challenging bucket list,” he wrote, “but I admire you more for completing your goal.”