My bucket list has a hole in it.
It must be leaking, because everything that was previously in it has dribbled out somewhere.
Let me explain…
Way Back In The Day
So, ever since I was a youngster, I had a plan. There were certain things I wanted to accomplish. My goals were set as early as Junior High. I was going to do some things with my life, and no one was going to get in my way. At some point, I was going to sing the national anthem at a public event. I was going to release an album. Heck, I was even going to collect songwriting royalties. As life went on, I managed to do all of the above.
And, as life went on, I managed to do all of the above.
(I even still have the royalties checks around here somewhere. One for $.06, another for $.03. Hey, a check is a check, right?)
Then, with the downturn in my health in 2004, my goals took on a more morbid tone. Kinda like “Oh, if I had only…” My goals somehow morphed into a “bucket list” – things I wanted to do before I died.
You have to understand, I had health care professionals left and right telling me that I could keel over at any second. I was universally informed that I would not live to see 50. Between my weight, my high blood pressure, and my uncontrolled seizures, I was a rolling train wreck, just waiting to go off the tracks. So, I did what any person in my position would do.
I started negotiating.
Suddenly, all of my “goals” were various incarnations of getting healthier.
The “Passive Self-Improvement” List
If I could only get a handle on my health, I figured, then I might actually have a shot at living long enough to do something else interesting.
Like: If I could just lose some weight, I would go back to the gym. (As it was I kept injuring myself every time I tried.)
In exchange for dropping my blood pressure, I would run a 5K.
I would buy a pair of button-fly 501s if I could ever return to a 38-inch waistline.
Heck, I would even finish my novel if I had enough time between seizures to complete a sentence or two.
Then came the twin surgical interventions of my VNS implant and bariatric surgery. Suddenly, the only thing left on my “bucket list” is to live to ’til I am 50.
I am not sure that even qualifies it as a bucket list anymore.
Into The Great Wide Open
So, not a bad problem to have, right?
I show every sign of getting past the half-century mark now. So, ummm…now what?
I am tentatively exploring the idea of planning. You know, having some concept of the next years of my life. Beyond “I would like to only go to the emergency room three times this year.”
So, what do normal people plan for?
Heck if I know. I haven’t been a normal person for quite a while.
But, in the meantime, I’ve got this big, empty bucket with nothing left inside it. Plenty of short-term goals, mind you. But nothing that us writers would call an “over-arching narrative.”
Peering into the future, I literally have no idea what I want to be when I turn 50 in 3 years.
I never thought the problem would come up, see?
I Don’t Want To Grow Up, I’m a Toys-R-Us Kid,