I started keeping this list on the back of an envelope. It has grown a good deal since then.
These are not the wild, reckless dreams of a twenty-year-old. They are the quieter, richer things that matter more the older I get.
Some cost money and some cost nothing at all. Every one of them is a promise I am making to myself, and maybe to you too.
The Slow Way to See a Whole Country
I have flown over plenty of places and seen nothing but clouds. Now I want to do the exact opposite.
A long train journey sits near the top of my list. Days of watching a country roll past the window, with nowhere I have to be.
There is no rushing on a train. You read, you nap, you talk to strangers, and the miles take care of themselves.
It is the kind of travel that feels like resting. That is precisely what I am after now.
The Skill Everyone Swears They Will Learn Someday
You have said it too. Someday you will finally learn to play something.
I am tired of someday. I want to sit down with an instrument and be terrible at it out loud.
Nobody expects a concert. The point is the small, stubborn joy of getting a little better each week.
A piano, a guitar, even a harmonica will do. The instrument matters far less than finally starting.
The One Gift Only I Can Leave Behind
My family has my photographs and my recipes. What they do not have is the story behind them.
So I want to write it down. Not a polished book, just the truth of a life in my own words.
The small things are what get lost first. How we met, what we feared, what we laughed about at the dinner table.
It is the one thing no one else can make. That is exactly why I have to.
The Sky That Made a Grown Man Cry
A friend of mine saw the northern lights last winter. He is not a sentimental person, and he wept.
I have wanted to see them my whole life. Now I want it badly enough to actually book the trip.
It is not a thing you watch on a screen. You stand out in the cold and let the whole sky move over you.
Some sights are worth being uncomfortable for. I suspect this is the greatest of them.
The Afternoon That Changed How I Eat
I can cook the same dozen meals in my sleep. That is comfortable, and it is also a rut.
So I want to take a real cooking class. Somewhere with a chef, an apron, and a dish I have never attempted.
One good technique can change how you eat forever. Suddenly a whole new set of dinners is possible.
The best part is doing it beside other people. You laugh at your mistakes together and taste the results.
The Phone Call I Keep Not Making
There is an old friend I let drift away. No falling out, just years and busy lives.
I think about them more than I admit. And every time, I find a reason not to call.
That call is on the list now. Not a text, an actual voice, an actual afternoon caught up.
The people who knew our younger selves are irreplaceable. I do not want to run out of time to say so.
The Thing You Plant for Someone Else to Enjoy
There is an old saying about planting trees you will never sit under. It used to sound sad to me.
Now it sounds like the whole point. I want to put something in the ground that outlasts me.
A tree, a garden, a stubborn little orchard. Something a stranger enjoys long after I am gone.
It is a quiet way of saying I was here. And that I was thinking of whoever came next.
The Trip That Answers a Question I Never Asked Out Loud
I know the names of the towns my family came from. I have never stood in a single one.
I want to change that while I still can. To walk the streets and see the faces that share my nose.
You learn things about yourself in a place like that. Things no records or stories can quite explain.
It is less a vacation than a homecoming. Even to a home I have never seen.
The Hobby Where Nobody Keeps Score
For most of my life, everything I did was measured. Was it useful, was it good enough, did it pay.
I want a hobby with none of that. So I am going to learn to paint.
Not to sell anything or impress anyone. Just to see what a quiet afternoon and a brush can do.
The paintings can be dreadful. That is allowed, and honestly it is half the freedom.
The Vacation Where the Hotel Comes With You
Packing and unpacking has become my least favorite part of any trip. It wears me out before the fun begins.
That is why a cruise finally appeals to me. You unpack once, and the room follows you from country to country.
You wake up somewhere new without lifting a suitcase. For a body that is a little slower now, that is a gift.
There is a version of adventure that is also restful. I intend to find it on the open water.
The Fastest Way I Know to Feel Younger
People spend fortunes trying to feel young again. I think the answer is far cheaper than that.
It is to be useful to someone. So volunteering is high on my list.
When you are needed, you stop counting your aches. You are too busy being part of something.
A soup kitchen, a library, a school. It hardly matters where, only that you show up.
The Loudest Machine and the Quietest Ride
A hot air balloon has one of the loudest engines you will ever stand beside. Then the burner stops.
And suddenly you are floating in total silence. That contrast is exactly what draws me to it.
You drift with the wind at the pace of a slow thought. The whole world lays itself out beneath you.
I want that particular quiet at least once. The kind you can only find a thousand feet up.
The Trip Where I Only Have to Please Myself
I have spent a lifetime planning trips around everyone else. What they wanted to see, when they needed to eat.
Just once, I want a trip that answers only to me. A solo journey with a schedule of my own making.
If I want to sit in a cafe for three hours, I will. If I want to skip the famous sight, no one will mind.
It sounds a little lonely until you try it. Then it feels like meeting yourself again.
The Brain Workout That Feels Like Play
They tell us to keep the mind sharp as we age. Crosswords are fine, but I want something bigger.
So I am going to learn a new language. Badly at first, and cheerfully so.
Every new word is a tiny door opening. And the studies say it keeps the mind limber for years.
The real prize is ordering a meal in another tongue. And watching a stranger smile because you tried.
The Song I Have to Hear in the Same Room Once
There is one song that has followed me through my whole life. I have heard it a thousand times on speakers.
I have never once heard it live. That is the hole I want to fill.
A recording is a photograph of a thing. Being in the room is standing inside it.
I do not care how far I have to travel. Some songs deserve to be heard in person, just once.
The Weekend That Rescues a Hundred Memories
There is a box of old photographs in my closet. Every year the colors fade a little more.
One of these weekends, I am going to save them. Scanned, backed up, and finally safe from time.
Paper burns and floods and fades. A digital copy outlives all of that.
Then I can share them with everyone at once. Memories are meant to be passed around, not shut in a box.
The Map With No Red Circle on It
Every trip I have ever taken had a destination. A place I was aiming for the whole way.
I want one journey with no such thing. A road trip that turns left simply because left looks interesting.
You find the strangest, sweetest places that way. The diner, the overlook, the town not in any guidebook.
The point is not arriving anywhere. The point is that for once, there is nowhere I have to be.
The Feeling I Forgot I Missed
It has been years since I stood in the ocean. Somewhere along the way I simply stopped going.
I miss it more than I realized. The pull of the water, the salt, the way it makes you laugh like a child.
So a proper swim in the sea is on the list. Not a careful wade, a real, joyful plunge.
The body remembers that feeling instantly. I want to remind mine that it is still allowed.
The Words They Will Read When I Am Not There
My grandchildren are young and busy and wonderful. They will not sit still for my advice today.
So I am writing them letters instead. Ones they can open years from now, when they finally need them.
A letter waits patiently in a way a person cannot. It holds your voice long after the room goes quiet.
I want them to know exactly what I thought of them. In my own hand, on their hardest days.
The Dish I Have Been Avoiding for No Good Reason
There is a food I have turned my nose up at for decades. I could not even tell you why anymore.
It is time to actually try it. Order it properly, made well, with an open mind.
Half our dislikes are just old habits wearing a costume. We decided once and never checked again.
Maybe I will hate it after all. But at least I will finally know for sure.
The Two Hours That Still Feel Like Magic
I have seen shows on television my whole life. It is not remotely the same thing.
I want to sit in a real theater for a proper production. The kind with a live orchestra and a held breath.
There is a hush when the lights go down. For two hours the ordinary world simply stops existing.
Screens can show you almost anything now. They still cannot give you that particular kind of magic.
The Reason to Look Closer at Ordinary Things
I have walked past the same garden for years without really seeing it. That is the trouble with familiar places.
A camera fixes that. So I want to properly learn photography, not just point and shoot.
When you hunt for a picture, you start noticing everything. The light, the frost, the lines on a stranger’s face.
It teaches you to look, and looking is its own reward. Suddenly the ordinary is full of things worth keeping.
The View That Was Above Me the Whole Time
City lights have hidden the real sky from me for most of my life. I forgot how much was up there.
So I want to drive far out into the dark. Somewhere with no glow on the horizon at all.
The number of stars out there is genuinely staggering. It puts every worry back in its proper size.
It was there the entire time, of course. I simply need to go somewhere I can finally see it.
The Thing My Feet Still Remember
I used to dance, years and years ago. My feet have not forgotten, even if the rest of me has.
I want to take it up again before it is too late. A proper class, with a partner and a bit of music.
The body holds onto rhythm long after the mind gives up. Give it a song and it starts to remember.
It is exercise that never feels like exercise. And it comes with laughing, which the doctor never prescribes.
The Cathedral With No Roof
I have seen beautiful buildings all over. None of them compare to standing in a great canyon.
So a proper national park is on my list. The kind of place that makes a person feel small in the best way.
You walk in and instinctively lower your voice. Nature has a way of demanding that quiet respect.
It is the closest thing I know to worship. A cathedral that took a million years and has no roof.
The Treasure Hunt That Never Really Ends
I have always envied people with a collection. That gleam they get when they find the next piece.
So I want to start one of my own. It hardly matters what, only that the hunt is fun.
Stamps, old maps, sea glass, worn paperbacks. The object is just an excuse for the searching.
A collection gives every trip a small secret mission. You are never just wandering, you are looking.
The Weight I Am Finally Ready to Set Down
I have carried an old grudge for longer than I would like to admit. It stopped being about them years ago.
It is only weight now, and I am tired of carrying it. So forgiveness is on this list, strange as that sounds.
Letting go is not saying it was fine. It is deciding it no longer gets to rent space in my head.
The person it frees is me. That is a gift I have waited far too long to give myself.
The Classroom With No Test at the End
School was all about the grade when I was young. Every lesson came with a judgment attached.
I want to sit in a classroom again, purely for the joy of it. History, astronomy, whatever catches my eye.
There is a particular pleasure in learning with no exam looming. You are free to be curious for its own sake.
The mind stays hungry no matter your age. I intend to keep feeding mine well.
The One Alarm Clock Worth Setting
I am not much for early mornings anymore. There is one exception I want to make.
I want to watch the sun rise somewhere brand new. A beach, a mountaintop, a foreign city just waking up.
There is something honest about a sunrise. The whole world getting a fresh, unspoiled start.
Most alarm clocks are worth cursing. This is the one worth setting on purpose.
The Cookbook Only My Family Would Want
The recipes that matter most were never written down. They live in my hands and my memory.
One of these days that knowledge simply disappears. Unless I finally put it on paper.
So I want to record our family recipes properly. The measurements, yes, but also the little secrets.
No publisher would ever want it. My family would treasure it more than any bestseller.
The Fear I Have Been Saving for Later
There is a thing I have been scared of for most of my life. I have arranged my days around avoiding it.
Later has finally arrived. Whatever it is, I want to face it while I still have the nerve.
Courage does not mean the fear goes away. It means you go ahead with your knees knocking.
I would rather be frightened than regretful. One of those feelings fades much faster than the other.
The Luxury I Keep Refusing Myself
I was raised to always be doing something useful. Idleness felt like a small sin.
So here is a strange item for the list. I want to spend one whole day doing absolutely nothing.
No chores, no errands, no guilt allowed. Just a book, a window, and a slow cup of tea.
Rest is not a reward for finishing everything. Some days it is the entire point.
The Sentence I Keep Meaning to Say
There are people in my life who do not know what they mean to me. I assume they must, but assuming is not telling.
So the last item is the simplest and the hardest. To actually say the words out loud.
Not in a card someday, not at a funeral. To their face, while they can still hear it.
It is the shortest thing on this whole list. It may also be the most important.
