I hate bucket lists. Maybe because I’m a realist. Or because I’m too cautious. Or I hate the idea of setting myself up for disappointment. I mean, it feels like writing down a bunch of things I would maybe kinda sort of want to achieve before, you know, I kick the proverbial bucket. Like if they happened, my mind would be completely blown.

I once had one, which to be honest, was a source of much frustration. Maybe it was ambitious? I don’t know. There was stuff on there like ‘Travel the world’, (Because why limit yourself to specific countries) ‘Go bungee jumping’ (I think I can actually pull this off still), ‘Write a book’, etc. As the birthdays pile up and life introduces new and necessary goals, some of these things just stop being as exciting as they once were. Not because they’re not exciting things but because they come with costs and budgets and plans and time and energy and explanations. . . They end up getting pushed forward to when ‘I have the money’ or when ‘I have the time’ or when ‘I have the energy’.  Before you know it you’re old and tired, sitting in front of the fireplace thinking about shoulda coulda wouldas.

I wish life was less confusing. That I could actually find a way of prioritizing the things I am truly passionate about as opposed to prioritizing things. Or should I change what I’m passionate about? (Do what I love, love what I do?)

I guess I’m just scared of getting out of my comfort zone. It’s easier to accept things you understand. But at the same time there’s this big fat maybe hanging over my dreams.

I’ll probably write that list again. Sigh.


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