Sunday, May 20, 2012

The Bucket

You have one whether you want to admit it or not. So do I.

A bucket list. A wish list of things you want to see, do, accomplish or experience before you close your eyes for the final time.

For me, I never knew I had a list until I turned a certain age. Granted, I'm not old, despite how I sometimes feel and look with my salt and pepper hair. But, I can remember back to my teens and twenties and remember ideas and dreams that now haunt me due to either my lack of intestinal fortitude or lack of funds.

Back then it didn't matter. At forty-eight plus, it tends to be a dumbell. Thoughts hang over me like a stripper's tits during a lap dance. Should I touch those thoughts or not? Will those  thoughts be realized or simply be wishes unfulfilled?

The bucket list. It's a novel idea which has inspired movies, books, videos and countless middle-aged men, Where to go? What to do? Where to do what I want to do?

I'd never really thought much about it until I realized that a few years back I'd crossed off a bucket list item that I'd never considered a bucket list item. I paid over $2000, yes, two thousand dollars, for front row tickets, dead-center, to a Jimmy Buffet concert. Most will say that I was out of my mind to do that. To those, I say 'duh'. You must not know me at all.
But, to others who know my love for beach living and the life of a soul of a sailor, it's understood.

The beginning of my bucket list. I didn't even know it. I never even saw the Bucket List movie despite my love of Morgan Freeman and that 'Jack' guy. Face it, most of us never even knew what a bucket list was until that movie was released. Most of our lists were comprised of inane things such as fame, fortune, cars and status. Who the fuck ever thought that a dream consisted of visiting Peru's Macchu Piccu ruins to reclaim an ideal or identity?

Uh, me.

It's on my list. So is visiting a city somewhere in the very center of the United States where nothing grows but corn and tornadoes solely because I want to see who can live in such a place. I want to live on a beach in a thatched-roofed home where my bed is a two-person hammock so that Pam and I can watch the sunset every night while swaying to the breeze and listening to the breakers.
My list has me seeing myself telling any and every boss, superior or supervisor I might have that I'm far more qualified to be in their position than they might be. I'm close to that one.
My list includes making my wife laugh or smile every day, at least once, for the rest of my life, or hers, whichever comes first.
My list takes me to a place far away where I can be who I am, despite my faults and inconsistencies. Be it on this earth or beyond.

I suppose that despite what I may say or do, this old-ass body and mid doesn't really have a bucket. It's more of a pail. I've done a lot that most will never do and experienced a great deal that most will never care to experience. Yet, I do have dreams. As we all should, no matter our circumstances.

My bucket has a hole in it. I've let many things I wanted to do drip from the bottom not even knowing they were there. Thank god (small 'g') for duct tape. The hole is still there but the tape holds fast... for now.

Next on the bucket list is to simply be normal. No small task. But, a worthy drop in the bucket.