My Ever-Evolving Bucket List

For much of my journey on this spinning blue marble, the idea of keeping a Bucket List never crossed my mind. It wasn’t part of my vocabulary, not something discussed at early-morning coffee or late-night chats. In fact, for the better part of sixty-nine years, I wandered without a single documented dream to chase.

All that changed about fifteen years ago. The world had just been introduced to the movie “The Bucket List,” graced by the memorable pairing of Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson in December 2007. Something about their joyful, reckless pursuit of last wishes lingered with me. Maybe it was that film, or maybe it was just time, but in August of 2010, on an ordinary, unremarkable Tuesday, I found myself writing my own list. Just me, a quiet moment, and fifteen hopes—penned with far more hope than certainty.

Looking back, I’m a little stunned by what’s unfolded. Eight of those dreams have been realized; seven remain, quietly waiting in the wings. My list was never extravagant, more about spirit than spectacle. Now, with the clock ticking a little faster, some seem out of reach: a hot-air balloon ride, a meandering, two-week road trip to L.A. from home. Other wishes hang in the realm of possibility: seeing 192 lbs on the bathroom scale, eating strictly vegetarian for one entire week. Ordinary, some might say, but for me, extraordinary miracles I could actually make happen—if I can just summon the willpower.

The truth is, I often puzzle over why I created the list in the first place. Most of life’s adventures seem to arrive unannounced—one moment of inspiration, one leap, and suddenly it’s done. A Bucket List, on the other hand, stretches on—a string of intentions, stretched across years and decades, a gentle challenge to keep dreaming a little bigger.

I suspect I’m not alone. Maybe most of us tuck away these lists, let them gather dust. As the years roll by, the heart’s desires shift and fade. Some ambitions dim, some grow brighter, others vanish altogether. I can’t even recall the last time I glanced at mine, so perhaps it’s no longer urgent. Yet there’s a part of me that hopes, someday in the future, someone will stumble upon my old, worn-out list and say, “Hey, look at what great-grandpa once dreamed of doing!” And if I have any say in the matter—wherever I am—I’ll be smiling.

I try to take a lesson from the film that started it all. “Never tell me the sky’s the limit when there are footprints on the moon.” That’s a reminder worth keeping, both for lists and for life.