I love the idea of a bucket list. From doing chores as a boy to knocking out my final university assignments, I’ve always worked better with a list. It’s the only way I get things done (my mum learned that early on and used the technique often, much to our home’s improvement on Saturday mornings). The satisfaction of checking off a completed task is all the validating motivation it takes for me to obsess myself over its demise. In that way, having a bucket list turns life itself into a game. How many of these things can I do this year? Hey, while I’m on this trip, I can knock that one out! The items excite by pushing you out of your comfort zone. Why else would someone eat a scorpion unless they had a little voice in their head holding them accountable? You have to, dude, you put it on the list! (That’s a real one of mine by the way folks, so if anyone knows a scorpion guy…)
But beyond that, I love the idea of legacy. Barring any future medical advancements, I only have 100 or so years on Earth, so I want get the most out of it. I want to leave a mark. I want to have a kid (maybe named Mark, just for humor’s sake) who will take as much advantage of his time here as I plan on taking of mine. I want to be able to hand off to him my (hopefully completed) list so he can experience all the fun, scary stuff in life, and add his own to the mix. Or if nothing else, he’ll be able to say, “Wow, my dad really experienced zero-gravity AND he had sex on a yacht in the Caribbean?! That guy was awesome!”
For most, bucket lists are this abstract pseudo-endeavor that will somehow give their lives more purpose, teach them to appreciate their mortality, and make them better people. They serve as motivation to see the world, to forgive whomever so-and-so did me wrong, or any other form of sentimental crap they put on them. The list then becomes sort of a nagging reminder in the back of people’s heads to be a more exciting and worldly version of themself, but that voice is nearly always discarded into the bin of wishful thinking and never realized; then they return to their boring jobs and decay purposelessly.
No thanks. I would much rather make it a physical list and hold myself accountable to it. Why not take the boredom and repetition out of life? Why not turn it into a game with like-minded friends of who can do the most things? Why not legally change your middle name to “Danger” just to be able to tick a box and laugh at yourself? You’ll have great stories, you’ll look back proudly when you’re grey, and you’ll inspire others—probably not to be so daring as to visit Antarctica, but I’d bet they’ll spend less free time behind a computer screen, and more time doing life. In the words of the great and manly Nick Offerman, “Damn it all, you have been given a life on this beautiful planet. Get off your ass and do something!”
My brother and I got to talking a while back and decided to start our own lists, and try to check off some stuff together. So we each put our imaginations to paper, deciding early on the activities that would dictate our collected vacation days from then until death. I felt pretty good about mine. A bit unoriginal, but it had the staples: go skydiving, go to Mardi Gras, fly on a private jet, etc. Then my brother showed me his. Ever the thorough nerd, his list dwarfed mine. It went on for pages, each with multiple categories, some even having sub-checklists within. I had to step it up.
So I dove into this new obsession, emulating my older, smarter brother, writing down the standard stuff (i.e. go to a café in Amsterdam) as well as adding some weird fantasies of my own unique taste (i.e. wrestle an adult alligator) until mine could compete with his. Here are some highlights that I’m looking forward to completing:
Spend a night in Tunisia listening to "A Night In Tunisia".
Crash a stranger’s wedding and give a toast.
Ride a motorcycle across a former-communist country.
Experience a sensory deprivation tank.
Ride a camel.
Attend a Victoria’s Secret fashion show.
See one of the 7 Ancient Wonders of the World.
As I’ve matured (albeit slightly), some of the more novel things have been dropped (I mean, who really needs to “Visit Area 51”, anyway?) and many more important ones have been added (“Find and visit the town in which a long-dead, European ancestor was born”), but the goal has remained consistent: to make myself do things I otherwise wouldn’t have done. (I will, before I die, conquer my crippling fear of spiders, unpleasant though it will be.) I’ve already checked off many items, from the sentimental “Buy an old man you don’t know a drink and discuss life with him” to the more juvenile “Get Tased,” and each checkmark is just as satisfying as the last. Each “Drink a Scotch older than me” and “Swim with sharks” is a modicum closer to having lived a fulfilled life. It may not mean much in the grand scheme of things, but at least I’m not decaying.