That’s how I respond to the notion of a bucket list for me.

Some friends and many others whom I know have developed these lists of experiences that want to have before they die. People closest to me know that I like doing stuff, going places, meeting people, having a big life. But I know that if I’d have a bucket list, I would likely be missing the good stuff, the accidental, the unplanned.

Let’s say that I had designs on a trip to the Italian Alps. I’d save, investigate, study, negotiate, and plan. I’d likely forgo contributions, relationships, experiences, and opportunities in service to the Alps. I might not meet new people at Milwaukee Makerspace or attend to the litter in Humboldt Park during my daily morning walks there. Like thousands of other commuters at Chicago Union Station, I might sail past my buddies Ray and Sue as they ask passersby for support in making ends meet.

It’s not that these lists are bad or wrong, but they are not me. I am fairly sure that if I had a bucket list, I’d be getting urgent about list management and money management, about destinations instead of where I am right now. I’d be getting worried about time left instead of enjoying time here and now.

Just this this past week, I found a dead fox in the park during my morning walk. I also found a dead chipmunk, three used diapers, part of a costume, and a toy saw. In the same park, I got a great Asian pancake from a food truck, heard a rock band tune up, and listened to the amazing musical performance by CNJ Latin Jazz. It’s the same place I ran into local organizer Danielle and her children, neighbors Emily and Ryan, and scores of people who reliably chuckle when I greet their dogs with “Hi, Puppy.” I got to hang there with Jonathan, Kathy, and Tim, catching up and cheering each other on. During a walk, I was reminded about Justin moving a few blocks away and Jordanne working a few blocks closer.

None of that would make a bucket list, but every bit of it is precious to me.