When I was little, I was super weird. I loved to make lists. I made lists of books I had read, books I needed to read, pet I’ve owned (I went through a lot of hamsters), people I knew, all sorts of OCD shit.
As a quasi-adult, and still super weird, I love bucket lists. Almost as much as I love itineraries. A few years ago I found an old notebook and set about writing a bucket list, to be checked off periodically as I fulfill my dreams. Because, I don’t know, I guess I expected to skydive or climb Mt Everest each weekend. It ended up reaching, like, biblical proportions, filling half the notebook, categorized into continents and activity types.
While I actually got to check some of them off in Central America, like learning to surf and going snorkeling in the Caribbean, there are still about 700 more I need to go ahead and get done.
It looks a lot like this one, actually. I’ve already done a few, but 25, 28, 38, 47, 78, 88, 133 140, 159, 163 are top priorities….so I guess I’m going to busy for the next 200 years or so.
jumping off a 265ft bridge outside of San Jose, 04/12
What have you done that scares you?