Somehow, making bucket lists is beginning to seem to me like a Hallmark(TM) holiday. You know — the ones they make up so people will run out and buy cards and neon-hued stuffed bears clutching hearts and flowers. Or little gold plastic trophies proclaiming Best Bucket List Ever. Can Bucket List Day be far behind?
Maybe this makes me a curmudgeon, but I keep wondering why we need to formalize our goals and aspirations to this extent; to entomb them within neatly numbered lists that we then dutifully drag with us as we plow through each item.