I haven’t written in a really long time. It’s hard to get started, cause, whatever, I forget how. I can’t manage to get up early anymore. But that didn’t work anyway. I would write, but it was crap. So I’m scared it will be crap. Not scared, really, though I act scared. It’s just writing. It doesn’t have to be good. No one reads it anyway.
But it’s on my bucket list.
Most people have things on their bucket lists that are about going somewhere. I want to be on every continent. I want to climb Everest. I want to travel a lot. I want to go to Morocco. The Great Wall of China. Things like that. I want to go to the Great Wall of China. But it’s not a bucket list item for me. I could die without being there and I wouldn’t feel like I had failed my life’s dream.
My bucket lists are the kinds of things I don’t get done sometimes because I travel too much. And because I spend too much on travel. Because then I can’t spend the same money on achieving my bucket list.
My bucket list consists of things I’ve always said I wanted to do. Be fluent in another language. Write a novel. Even keep a blog consistently. Live creatively. Know what it feels like to enjoy my freedom. Hell, I just want to be happy. That’s on my bucket list. I should have found a way to serve. I think it was Albert Schweitzer who said that those would be the happiest people, the ones who found a way to serve.
Albert Schweitzer was a German and then French! Who was an organist, a philosopher AND a physician! That’s what I’m talking about. Bucket lists man. And he was happy, presumably, or he wouldn’t have said so.
There are other things on my bucket list. Things I might like to read, believe it or not. But it’s not the places I want to go, at least not literally. Unless, I can live there. That’s always been on my bucket list. To live somewhere else. To become someone else. Man, I just think that would be cool.
So, there. It’s a blog post.