I’ve been pondering mortality quite a lot lately. The remorseless, inescapable advance of that final deadline.
I don’t mind dying so much. Sometimes I’ve even wish I could just get on and be done with it – turn my back on disappointment, loss, failure … get out of the way of those who might make better use of the space I take up. This whole business of being human … I just don’t seem to be very good at it.
But the thought of dying without having fully lived … now that bites. When I was a teenager I wrote a poem … I don’t remember how it went (it’s tucked away in a brown plastic file with all my other juvenile outpourings, I have no idea where) but I clearly remember how I felt when writing it. We were living in a little old house in a suburb outside Johannesburg, and my parents spent their days slaving away at rebuilding that house into their dream home, while also establishing their own business from home. They were busy and stressed, and they bickered constantly. And I looked at their lives, and shuddered at their boring middle-classness, and wrote something that began “I shall never fall to this / The final degradation”.
And … kyk hoe lyk sy nou.
So I’ve been sort of flailing about, in between moments of pondering, which themselves are interspersed with long periods of staring into space, in between tunneling through books like an express train, and somewhere in the course of all this I stumbled upon David Cain‘s blogs about bucket lists.
I have always LOVED making lists. You can spend hours sorting them and organizing them and updating them. Sometimes you even get to cross things off them, although usually, having been written and organized and color-coded, the list is then filed away and forgotten. BUT you get to feel really good about having made it. It feels almost as good as actually doing something.
Anyway, I decided to make a bucket list. For the past week, the only item actually on the bucket list was “Write a bucket list”. This morning I quit pondering and wrote down the rest of it. And frankly I’m perturbed.
It is so very short. And so largely mundane. What happened to the girl who wanted to go everywhere, know something about everything, have adventures, take on the world, and never get tied down? I could make the list longer, of course, just by adding a whole lot of cool stuff. But I while I was writing it, I was asking myself, “When I’m dying, will I care whether or not I achieved this? And do I actually believe I CAN achieve it?”
Well, it appears that I’ve morphed into someone who really and truly would rather get caught up on filing than walk the streets of Samarkand.
I need to know … is this what it means to “grow up”? Or to give up?
6 thoughts on “There’s a hole in my bucket”
I love the idea of bucket lists as well– though that movie BLEW. No thank you!
I would imagine that you’re just going through something and it’s impeding your ability to feel ambitious– I remember when I was in college and, I suppose, depressed, I would lie in bed and tell myself to imagine ANYTHING I wanted and then to imagine attaining it and I would just feel nothing. It was kind of terrifying. But those sorts of feelings tend to be transient. Sometimes you just have to hold on for the future while you’re slogging through the present.
We should talk more about bucket lists, I need to put some more things on mine!
Thank you so much for stopping by and for following my blog! Not to suck up or anything, but I feel honored…:)
I’ve struggled with depression on and off pretty much all my adult life. Don’t know why the current crash is such a doozy – really, I have everything I need to have a truly great life. Just taking it one day at a time, one task at a time, trying not to wallow, and hoping to float to the surface before too much longer.
Would love to see your bucket list!
I love your bio at the bottom of the post… when people tell me I have dog hair on my clothes, I say “I have dog hair on my LIFE!”
Great ques you ask at the end after drawing your list. Your beautiful photo also actually (almost) redeems the grating cliché in my book. LOL
You’re a tough woman to please…lol
I actually am. LOLOL