When I came back, many of my friends in New York all of a sudden had these “Bucket Lists.” They were spurred by the Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson film that features two men dying of cancer who create a list of items they want to do before they kick the bucket.
Earlier this week, I took advantage of my fabulous NYPL card and finally borrowed the film (free rentals? recession be damned!). In the movie the characters spend a couple of months traveling around the world. It was pretty surreal watching it and seeing some very familiar places and realizing that the trip I just finished is actually a collection of “trips of a lifetime” for many. It made me think back to my 50 Life Goals list that I’ve had ever since I was 15. Granted, the list has had many incarnations in the past 12 years and has never even had 50 goals at any given time…but still…
I mean, I’ve always liked having things to work toward. I love looking at it a couple of times every year and marking things off. I love looking at it and thinking…”what the hell was I thinking?” And I love the fact that I can buy an indulgence during a so-called economic downturn and not feel guilty because I know I’ve wanted that for years.
But while watching the movie, I have to say, I think my “bucket list” is far different from my already created life goals list. I mean, the goals I have are all very forward-thinking. They’re things I want to accomplish, or things I want to have, or people I want to know because I think they’ll make me happier in the long run. A bucket list, on the other hand, seems to have things that are just experiences to have because they’re great experiences.
But what was even crazier was realizing that I’ve got plenty of travel goals on my list o’ life goals (which includes visiting Europe, making a trip to the Final Four, and visiting all 50 states, among others). But if I were to know when my life were to end or to create a bucket list, I don’t think travel would be anywhere on there. Travel, like my goal of learning to play the guitar, or my dream of owning a house with a gazebo, would seem pretty fruitless if life were ending in six months.
I guess I’m just saying it made me realize that I don’t really travel because I like traveling. I do it because I like the person that I think it makes me.*
(*not that I think learning to play the guitar or owning a house with a gazebo would make a better person, though…)
