The Bucket List I Made at 15

and why it was probably one of my best decisions.

When I was in in my early teens, we watched The Bucket List. I was inspired to create my own. I knew it was a bit morbid for someone as young as I was to make such a list. I wasn’t sick, reckless, or in danger, but I also felt it was important. Many in my family history did not live long lives or extraordinary ones. Few had ever left the country, and many of my cousins my age rarely even left the state they were born in. I didn’t want to be limited like them. Especially my grandmother, who graduated valedictorian of her class, while pregnant and unmarried, and never even so much as held a full-time job before dying of a brain aneurysm when I was very young.

It was made in Microsoft Paint, (of all things) and I don’t recall the last time it was updated, I’m guessing towards the end of high school or beginning of college, but this is how I found the file:

What lovely 2000’s graphics I used.

In another post, I’ll provide what updates I’ve accomplished in my life, but my priorities as a 15 year old versus my current 30-ish self…haven’t changed much. I appreciate that it held me accountable to make sure I didn’t miss out on opportunities as they arose.

When the bloodmobile came to my high school for donations, I signed up and was able to cross something off my list. I even got to learn my blood type. I grew my hair out and donated it for Key Club community service. I would do it again later just because I could. Growing my hair out to donate has become almost a routine for me. I enjoy helping others, and I believe that helped lead me into my future jobs like caregiving and teaching.

When auditions opened to perform for my chorus concert, I went for it. Parents of classmates congratulated me in the McDonald’s order line afterwards, and I still remember more than a decade later. I know I’m not the next American Idol by a long shot, but I’ve done what only a few others have.

When a school of tiny jelly fish wandered by my friend’s dock, we scooped it into tupperware and poked the safe spot on top. (We put the little fella back) When I went to an aquarium’s touching tide pool, O was too skittish to touch it. My friend saved me from regret and shoved my hand in the water to touch a stongray’s fin. (Thanks, Katy!) It feels like poking Jello, if you’re curious. And it’s very satisfying.

I accomplished all these things before I left high school, and I believe that’s why I left high school feeling accomplished and more of an adult than many of my classmates. Every time I start a school year, I try to motivate my students by talking of goals and achieving them. I feel like it could make a difference. I hope it has.

With that being said…

Now, I would like to acknowledge some of the more ridiculous things on my list.

Most importantly, I have no desire to interrupt a manatee’s day. One of those sea cows hit my kayak once and I’m going to count that as a poke. I know that bothering them is illegal, but I’m sure my 15 year old self only saw a cute fat mermaid friend.

I also do not want a pet sheep. Like at all. I do not even remember having that desire. One day I think I’d like a duck or two, but considering that right now my house smells like a barn with all the diapers between the toddler and baby, I’m good.

I must also say that I no longer have any intention of jumping off the Naples pier. For one, it was completely destroyed during our last hurricane and by the time they finish rebuilding it (again), I will be even less inclined age-wise to jump off and make the swim back. For another thing, when I wrote that, the pier was more of a local hangout where one brought relatives rather than the tourist destination it has become. Which means the penalties for doing it now vs back then would be considerably more expensive.

Which leads into the childish dream of riding in a police car. Maybe I thought jumping off the pier would lead to it and I’d get a nice free ride home afterwards and wouldn’t get my or my friend’s cars sandy. Who knows what I was thinking. I feel like if I were to be in a police car now, it would be for a very, very expensive reason and honestly, I’d rather take a Uber Black ride across the state. The only way I’d want to ride in a cop car now, would be for a ride-along so I could write about it. Hey, now that idea doesn’t sound so bad.