As seen on my tumblr, this inventory of (ambiguously) imperative demands is what an existence of absolute accomplishment would entail for me. Despite the unavoidably clichéd content (of mine at least), I do consider bucket lists to be an extremely intimate depiction of ourselves. Few things make a person more vulnerable than divulging their definitive aspirations that give greater purpose to their lives to themselves, let alone others.
- Get a degree in English literature,
- Live in Paris,
- Live in New York for a few years, (in one of those apartments with fire-escape stairs on the outside),
- Write a novel,
- Have a novel/essay/anthology published
Compose a song,- Become a grade 6 clarinetist,
- Go to Glastonbury,
- Read all of Shakespeare’s plays,
- Go on a road trip,
- Travel the Silk Road,
- Donate a three-(or more)figure sum of money to a cause anonymously,
- Join a protest (for something I want to stand up for, obviously),
See Mt. Everest- Write an entire story on a typewriter,
- Stay in a yurt for a month (or longer),
- Start my own collection of vinyl records,
- Spend a weekend talking to no-one and listening to nothing but Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin,
- Become editor of a newspaper/magazine,
- Create something that I’m proud of.
What I find so incredibly poignant about a bucket list is that it juxtaposes ideals from a spectrum of significance and magnitude, from wants of pragmatic likelihood to preference over travel itineraries to milestones that require an entire lifetime of dedication and ambition. Such juxtaposition almost negates the fact that we typically perceive such accomplishments with varied pride and understanding of significance, because as items on a list they become equals in their impact; attaining any of those goals will contribute towards an individual's profound sense of happiness and fulfillment.
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