When we’re young we haven’t longstanding designs; rather they are general in nature, guided by topical perspective rather than futuristic value. Old age rapidly dilutes that ambivalence and reduces ambition to what is colloquially called a bucket list; that is, a collection of endeavours or possessions which rightly or wrongly we have translated to be either nutritious or imperative before signing off forever. The slogan bucket list was popularized by the 2007 film of the same name directed and produced by the incomparable Rob Reiner.
Billionaire Edward Cole (Jack Nicholson) and car mechanic Carter Chambers (Morgan Freeman) are complete strangers, until fate lands them in the same hospital room. The men find they have two things in common: a need to come to terms with who they are and what they have done with their lives, and a desire to complete a list of things they want to see and do before they die. Against their doctor’s advice, the men leave the hospital and set out on the adventure of a lifetime.
Whatever the definition or etymology of bucket list, it most commonly refers to lifetime or lifestyle hopefuls:
- Sleep under the stars.
- Visit your dream destination.
- Go back to school.
- Learn how to paint.
- Read 100 books in a year.
- Jump out of a plane.
- Go on the most romantic date ever.
- Bake a cake from scratch.
Naturally the list is as endless and varied as the author. Predominantly however the list characterizes something corresponding to achievement rather than pure indulgence or materialism. Nonetheless this is not to dismiss outright the vulgar possibility of visceral gratification.
Speaking for myself (as is my wont, privilege and expectation within the context of this singular vernacular) I have long ago (that is, since at least last week) abandoned or cast overboard any vapid preposition for complicated watches, Steinway grand pianos, Oriental rugs, Chelsea ship’s bells, mahogany furniture, 18K jewelry, Lalique vases, Murano glass, oil paintings, bespoke apparel or Mont Blanc fountain pens. Instead I have adapted the end-of-life architecture called downsizing. This I have invoked both substantially and metaphorically; that is, limitation and purification or refinement. This does not however signal purely rhetorical exploration or expression. Benefitting from my suggestive decomposition I have attached my erstwhile theory of physical comfort to what I conceive as a combination of adventure and accommodation. Specifically this narrowness of pursuit is focused upon the EV automobile (and the unimaginable capital that emanates therefrom). We have lately arranged with our resident property manager for the installation adjacent the subterranean parking space a 240v outlet as a charging station.
Parallel to this modern enterprise has been the acknowledgment of travel and amusement alternatives. Gone for example are the formerly conjoined days of retail shopping (whether domestic or cosmetic). For identical reasons, gone are the days of wanton travel (even as diminished or constrained as aboard a ship or train – and most certainly not in an airport or aboard a plane). The compromises simply don’t merit the effort nor the ingenuity; nor, more importantly, do they surpass the hugely comparative advantage of the automobile. In a word, from the front door or bust!
Commensurately we have revitalized an interest in restraining ourselves to our own national territory. By way of apology for this seemingly insular motive, trespassing or any other similarly moderate alteration is obstructive to the agèd mind and disposition. The less barriers and native entitlements to overcome, the better. I am unimpressed with the official bearing of subalterns at the border. I can bear the deprivation of threatening behaviour by gun-totting individuals. I needn’t be reminded publicly of my sinful conduct and necessity to repent. I can no longer endure the constant accusations back and forth between resident citizens. As for Europe and the Caribbean, I’ve been there and admired the landscape, architecture and museums, whether atop the Tour d’Eiffel, in sailboat on the Baltic Sea or from a plane over Cagliari on the Mediterranean. It, like jewelry, has its limits and value.
This evaporation is indisputably contrary to most elevated human pursuits. Once again however I dignify the intellectualism of the minority by conceiving my personal ability to submerge myself in a detailed extravagance of what is at hand (or within our national territorial boundaries – the scope of which, east and west, I have twice traveled by land). And the ultimate manifestation of this particularity is no more or less than the indulgence of my beloved Town of Almonte to which I owe everything of value in my adult life. The descent from the obscure atmosphere of undirected intention to the evident ground of familiarity and activity is the recipe I follow. Tainting this persuasion is admission (that clarifying acknowledgment of truth). Perhaps the greatest demonstration of this critical decision is that by my partner who, when visiting Rome, gleefully confined himself to the rooftop café of our hotel from which, while sipping a martini, he greedily surveyed the entirety of the city below. His perfunctory conduct shall forever linger as exemplary.