Buckets

At 75, I have no bucket lists. I’ve had a fortunate life, experienced many things, and do not need to travel far and wide seeking novelty. I am content to draw on what I have already done to enhance all that I encounter now.

For example, the other day I strolled alongside a field bursting with six-foot-high stalks of wheat under a cloud puffed blue sky, wet green grass underfoot. I was as thrilled to observe a monarch butterfly then flit overhead as I would have been to view a snow leopard through binoculars in Tibet.

The trick, I find, is to have been deeply enough immersed in one experience that you can easily call on its emotions and perceptions to transform the ordinary. A field in a park becomes exotic. A town’s streets charm like world city boulevards. Any flower or leaf is as amazing as any on an Amazon cruise.

The flip side of “1000 things” is to become blase at the “1 thing.” There is in fact no time to do or see everything.

I contend there is no need. Deeply lived different experiences broaden the outlook, but too many dull the palate.

My quotidian world is infinite and wondrous while easily within reach and budget. I would never give up the relatively few amazing “things” I have done, but I feel little drive to seek any more. Ah, but to enjoy each moment here and now …

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