Bucket lists are popping up everywhere these days. They're hanging on refrigerators, stuffed in purses, and checked off on blogs. It seems as though everyone has one and if they don't, they've at least considered it. But why?
I started thinking about bucket lists, what they mean and the value they hold, and I couldn't help but wonder if we're so consumed in the ending that we forget to live. Perhaps that's why the bucket list fascinates so many people; knowing the end will eventually come, you prepare by making expansive lists of things you'd like to do, places you'd like to see.
Perhaps it's just me, but lists make me cringe. (Maybe because I'm thinking of the one hanging on my fridge at the moment, detailing everything I must do before this house can be placed on the market.) They're like this evil force, staring me in the face, begging to be marked off and completed. When I think about my dying days, the last thing I'd want to think of is my incomplete list or the far-fetched, lofty ideas I never had a chance to chase. (That trip to Greece, probably never happening.)
So, instead of a bucket list, I'm contemplating just a bucket (and a few sticky notes). As I complete various tasks, visit different places, and enjoy new experiences, I could drop a sticky note in the bucket. At the end, at best, it would be full of things I probably never imagined doing (fixing my leaking toilet on my own-YES!). I could continue to live and as unexpected opportunities take place, log them, and then drop them in the bucket. There's no limitations and no scary list daring me to complete it.
Yes, I think I'll take that bucket... and that sticky note. I just made homemade key lime pie ice cream. Who saw that coming?