My life would probably fall apart without lists. To-do lists. Shopping lists. Reading lists. But the one kind that’s always intrigued me the most is the infamous bucket list.
According to a column by Ben Zimmer in the Wall Street Journal, the term ‘bucket list’ was popularized in 2007 by the film of the same name. In fact, the screenwriter behind “The Bucket List,” Justin Zackham, only invented the term in 1999, but it’s safe to say that most Americans are familiar with the phrase.
As for me, I’ve had a running travel bucket list of my own since the age of seven, when I first learned what it was. The idea of packing as many experiences as possible into my time on this planet seemed exciting, like a game whose countdown could hit zero at any moment (no, not in a morbid way; more in a ‘life’s uncertain so enjoy every moment’ sort of way).
I was obsessed with both the joy of adding list items and the satisfaction of crossing them off, the same way I love scratching off tasks on my many to-do lists. But therein lay the problem, as I recently grew to realize. I became so enchanted by the concept of a checkpoint-based approach to life that I boiled down experiences and moments to colorless line items.
When I flip through my scrapbooks and scroll through my phone’s camera roll, the parts that make me smile are usually the least planned and most unexpected of the bunch, from the time my friends and I befriended a kind Greek farmer on the island of Lesvos who spoke absolutely no English, yet invited us over to his roadside plot of land to let us watch a live chick hatch. Or the day I spent snorkeling with schools of yellow tangs because a random, friendly stranger approached my family in Hawaii and recommended that we go to a locally-known beach rather than the rocky, unswimmable part of the coast we were on. Those instances were the right place, right time memories that defined my experience, not the experience that populates every glossy pamphlet and tourism advertisement.
Now, I’m certainly not saying that we should all throw out our Bucket Lists. Instead, they should act as inspirations rather than expectations. I’ve always wanted to go to Antarctica and see penguins, for example. And if the opportunity arose, I’d go to substantial lengths to make it happen. But should I feel heartbroken and unfulfilled if it doesn’t happen? Not at all.
I’m also not telling you to ditch your itineraries and guidebooks. Tourists tend to frequent certain attractions for a (usually) good reason, and some of my most memorable experiences came from online recommendations (Atlas Obscura is a favorite resource). And we don’t need to embark on an impossible quest for serendipity, either.
What I’ve learned about spontaneity and making memories that count is that an open mind adds a completely new dimension to your experiences, whether you’re on the other side of the globe or in your own backyard. So, if you’re going to Paris, you might block out some time to see the Eiffel Tower and the Champs-Élysées like you've always wanted. But you might stumble upon a cool art gallery or quaint café if you leave a few hours here and there to let you wander without a clear destination in mind. On a smaller scale, try branching out within your own city and the surrounding area. One of my favorite ways to fall back in love with my own hometown of San Diego is to approach it the way a newcomer would, treating every street, park, restaurant, or museum like a potential gem to be unearthed.
Maps, lists, guidebooks — these are all great resources to create the foundation of your adventures, but they shouldn’t act as the be-all and end-all of your experiences. You never know what kinds of memories you’ll create if you focus less on a list and a little more on fully enjoying each moment.
