I Demoted My Bucket List

It still gets a say. It no longer runs the meeting

Last week, in a fit of productivity I can only blame on the July heat, I cleaned out my desk drawer. Under a stack of expired coupons and the warranty card for an air fryer I barely use, I found a bucket list I wrote 15 years ago.

I remember writing it. I was at my kitchen table with a cup of tea and an Oprah magazine article suggesting that every woman needs one, so I dutifully produced 10 items in my best handwriting. A little background here. I’d just dropped off my youngest, who was starting her freshman year of college, so as far as I could see, my world was full of green lights and open highways. Maybe that’s why so many of my bucket list entries included travel: learn to sail in the Virgin Islands, eat tapas in Barcelona after visiting the Sagrada Familia, see a performance at the Sydney Opera House. Reading it now felt like finding a letter from a well-meaning colleague who didn't know me, or my budget, very well yet.

Only two items had check marks (complete my master’s degree and build my dream bathroom/closet) which works out to roughly one accomplishment every 7.5 years. 

When Your Bucket No Longer Holds Your Dreams

Rather than wallow in disappointment about my failure to fulfill a fantasy from 15 years ago, I flipped the paper over and wrote down a list of the best things that have happened during the same decade and a half. My new list was full of things no magazine would bother assigning, like Sunday mornings with a friend at the coffee shop where the baristas know our order. Then there’s the summer that I took PTO every single Friday, which made for 15 long weekends and plenty of time to enjoy cocktails on patios all across town. And let’s not forget the biggest and best thing of all, launching a business where I get to meet, work with, and support women looking to live vibrantly in their later years. Not one of these accomplishments required a passport or raiding my 401K. 

The bucket list, as a cultural institution, is a product of the baby boom generation. The phrase went mainstream in 2007, when a movie with the same name sent Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman skydiving. Within a few years, every woman I knew had a bucket list, along with a vague feeling of being behind on it. That's the part I've come to resent. It’s not the dreaming, which I'm entirely for, but the way a list of dreams turns into a scoreboard. A bucket list feels like a boss, too demanding and often disappointing. It sets deadlines, tracks your progress, and requires you to meet or beat expectations, a lot like an annual performance review. I spent four decades reporting to bosses and was elated to leave that pressure behind when I hung out my own shingle. 

Choosing Action Over Planning

Let me be fair to the list. Barcelona is still on it, and I’m planning to go next summer to celebrate paying off my 30-year mortgage. And remodeling my primary suite remains among the best things I've ever done, because I get to enjoy it every day. These big experiences and accomplishments earn their reputation because they add something intangible to life–memories that carry us forward and a sense of pride that it’s never too late to dream and take action.  What they haven't earned is a monopoly on the definition of living well. 

So, I've demoted my bucket list to consultant status. It keeps a seat at the table when I plan out my year, and every so often it makes an excellent suggestion. But it no longer runs the meeting, and it has lost all authority over whether I'm doing this stage of life correctly. While I was at it, I crossed off a few items I have no intention of doing, which I recommend as its own exercise. It turns out you can outgrow a dream you borrowed from a magazine, and retiring it feels less like giving up and more like cleaning out a drawer.

In the spirit of my ever-evolving bucket list, this fall my three college roommates and I will be stepping out of the Zoom Room and meeting up in person for the first time in almost 40 years. We’re already talking about fun activities and restaurants we want to try. It looks like we’ll be subbing out those late nights of partying in Georgetown, D.C. for a stroll at the local

bird sanctuary.

I can’t wait.