The Problem With Bucket Lists

A couple of years ago, a close friend of mine lost her good friend.  While on the phone with her and listening to her process everything and grieve, she told me her friend's death made her realize that every day is a gift, and that any day you are not doing, that you are not accomplishing, that you are not living to your fullest, is a day wasted- a day that you're not appreciating the great gift of life.  Something about what she was saying struck me as wrong at that time, but since she needed an empathetic ear right then and not a philosophical debate, I didn't pursue my train of thoughts.  In fact, I didn't really think about it again until this past February and March.  I revisited it because in this past February and March, I thought I was dying.

No joke.   I had been having serious radiating pains in the upper right quadrant of my entire shoulder/chest area, which was made even more looming and scary by the discovery of a lump in my breast.  A trip to the doctor confirmed it, which was disappointing, because to be very honest, I was hoping that she would just confirm the alternative suspicion that I had come up with, which was that I had finally gone off the deep end and was imagining things.   So when she nodded and said "Oh yes, I feel that." my heart sank.  Then she ordered blood work and a mammogram, and I was sent home, where I would sit and do battle with the abundance of crazy that lives in my head.

So then the blood work came back "funky" (quote from my doc).  Apparently I had too many red cells and not enough white.  Or maybe it was too many white and not enough red.  I don't remember- I couldn't focus above the buzzing that was sounding in my ears.  So she ordered more blood work while I sat home and continued to practice the art of "positive thinking".

(I don't know how positive thinking works for other people, but for me, when I'm scared, positive thinking just annoys the shit out of me.)

All this was made even more fun by the fact that either my doctor's office or the breast health clinic lost the referral for the mammogram, thus delaying the whole process by 2 and a half weeks.  (By the way, this happens all too often when I'm waiting for a referral.  I really do think there should be some kind of system in place where victims of such stupidity can exchange the mental torture they're enduring by inflicting some kind of physical torture on careless office staff.  At the very least this would improve the statistics of lost referrals, no?)

Anyway, during those two weeks I tried to just focus on the normal and go about my schedule.  I didn't really tell anyone about it, other than one or two friends.  And what I did tell them, I limited.  I didn't tell them how I was remembering that my aunt, who died of breast cancer 8 years ago, was diagnosed at my exact same age-37.  I also didn't tell them about the weird nightmares I was having, one in which I had a demon adhered to my back directly behind the spot where most of my pain was radiating from.  I dreamt that I tried to shake it off, but couldn't.  When I looked in the mirror to try to see it's face, I saw that it was dressed as a witch in a pointy hat, striped stockings, the works- and while it's face was blurred out, it was still clearly evil.  (It's okay if you want to laugh at that.... I'm pretty sure I'm the only person in the world whose subconscious will costume a symbolic fear of cancer in an outfit that looks like it came out of the MGM wardrobe department, circa 1939)

Don't worry, I'm not announcing that I have any kind of cancer in this post.  When I finally got the mammogram it showed that I have cysts, no tumors.  I'll need to get mammograms every year to monitor their growth.  The pain actually turns out to be from a sprained scapula.  I can live with it or treat it with massages.  (I've let Mr. C know, but so far he hasn't volunteered any services).  And the weird blood work turned out to be because I'm anemic, which is nothing that iron pills won't fix.

So hallelujah!  I'm not going to die.  But during all that, I thought a lot about the conversation between me and my friend from a few years ago, and I was struck with what it was exactly that had bothered me. It's the idea that we should all be do, do, doing, plan,plan, planning, live, live, living every second of our life in order to enjoy it fully.   I found this paragraph from this site, and I think it illustrates the frame of mind to which I'm objecting to:

"If you don't live your days by personal goals and plans, chances are you spend most of your time caught up in a flurry of day to day activities.  Ever feel your days passing by without any tangible output to speak of?  What were your accomplishments in the last 3 months?  Look at the things you did and the things you're planning on doing next.  Do they mean anything to you if you are to die today?  Having a bucket list reminds you of what really is important so that you can act on them."

You know what?  In those few weeks that I was waiting for news from the doctor, I did some pretty good living.  I didn't go anywhere different.  I didn't take my longed for trip to Italy.  I didn't raise a million dollars for charity.  I didn't participate in a flash mob.  I just appreciated.  I enjoyed my children more.  I enjoyed my husband more.   I resented the housework a little less (not much, I've got a ways to go in that department).  The half hour that I spent sitting on the sofa with a cup of coffee every morning became a blessed ritual.  I went out of my way more often for people.  I don't feel that living well should be defined necessarily by what you do, I think it should be defined by how you feel about your life.  I think sometimes people get caught up in the plan, plan, planning and do, do, doing without stopping to appreciate what's around them in the present.  Aren't you missing the point of making every second count if you are caught up in constantly planning what you're going to next check off your list?

Don't get me wrong.  I'm not saying to stay stagnant.  Planning and goal setting is important, but I don't think anyone should feel that they're somehow living less fully if they're not constantly striving towards a goal.   Sometimes just being is enough.  In fact, I'd argue that most of the time it is.

Someday I'll get to Italy.  And maybe someday something that I've written will get published (like a real writer!).  Maybe someday I'll even kung fu karate chop a random person in public, just for fun.  But if I died tomorrow without doing any of those things, I'm okay.  Despite what the author of the paragraph from the Excellence in Living page says, I don't need a bucket list to remind me of what is important.  I already know.  For me it's my people (that includes my family, friends, and you), and my relationship with God.  If I could add in a few extras in there, I'd include my books, my food, and my bed, in that order.

Ya'll thought I was going to say kettle chips, didn't you?  They're included in the food category, along with the wine.  So there.

You all have a good night.

*While I was writing this, I came across a blog called "Avery's Bucket List".  It's about a 5 month old with a rare disorder called SMA, or Spinal Muscular Atrophy.  Her parents are raising awareness of her disease while also gifting Avery with as many life experiences as they can in her short life.  My favorite thing about the blog is looking at the pictures- I love to see the joy on everyones face when they pose with her.  It's such a beautiful reminder that in heartbreak there's still so much goodness and learning to be had. 
Anyway, after reading it, I wasn't going to publish this post because I questioned whether my point would hold true for a family who is going to loose their baby to a mean disease.  I hope that I'm right in my decision to go ahead and publish this because in the end, I think we're both talking about the same thing- appreciating every moment and remembering what's important.  I'd encourage all of you to go ahead and read her story- there's sadness, but there's even more love.  And yes, tissues will likely be necessary. 

Lesson of the Easter Parade, Resurrected

Last week, J's Kindergarten class had their Easter Parade.  If you've been around a while, you'll remember that two years ago I wrote about PG's Kindergarten Easter Parade in this post here.  I wrote about how her teachers had sent home a plain white paper plate with the instructions to "take this plate and turn it into the most beautiful Easter bonnet you can imagine!" and how this had completely stressed me out because I knew I couldn't contend on the same level of craftiness as the other parents (something that no longer bothers me because looking back I can tell that some people just needed to illchay on the ompetitioncay, k-o-kay?)

I also whined a little about it being unfair that the boys had only to color a tie.

Well.

Easter 2012 was going to be my time to shine, because a) I have a son, b)he's in Kindergarten, which should've meant that c) when the Easter Tie came home all I would have to do is plop down the box of crayons and let the boy go to town and be done with it.

But no.  The craft gods laughed in my face once again because this year when the tie came home, I saw to my horror that they had changed the directions.  The new directions said "Boys!  Take this tie and turn into a tie like no other!  Cover it with fabric, glue, glitter.... be as creative as you can be!  Just make sure it's one of a kind and unique!"

Well crap on that, K teachers!  Crap. On. That.  


So I sat down with J. We talked.  We discussed.  We diagrammed.  He decided that he wanted to color the top portion of the tie and, at the bottom, depict an Easter Bunny hatching out of a colorful Easter Egg.  (I assure you, he came up with it on his own.  I merely nodded and took notes.)

Then Mr. C came home and it was time for me to leave for tutoring.  I asked Mr. C if he wanted to continue the project with J, or leave it for me to finish with him in the a.m.  He said he would finish it out.  So I explained our idea.  I showed him the diagram.  I explained the materials needed.  Then I came home and found this:

No, Mr. C.  Just no.

First of all, where's the colorful construction paper Easter Eggs we were going to design?  And how are we supposed to tell if that's two broken halves of an egg or a couple of tulips sitting there?  And... what?  Is the Easter bunny sitting in a nest of black pubic hair?  What about black yarn says 'nest' to you?  Where's the cotton ball that we were going to glue onto the bunny's backside? Come on!  These are Kindergartners here.  They have no filters.  They will judge, and they will mock.  Oh yes, they will mock.

Just a side note for those of you who think I'm exaggerating the whole Kindy judging thing:  at the beginning of the year I went into J's classroom to be a mommy helper.  I chose a table to sit and help at when this little girl says to me "Excuse me?" and I said "Yes, sweetheart?" and she said "I don't want you.  I want that mommy to help me."  And then she points across the room to a younger, much prettier mommy helper who had obviously just come from the gym based on the fact that she was wearing super tight yoga pants and showing off her fabulously flat abs.  So I laughed it off, and was all "Oh, well.  What are you going to do?"  But you know what?  Every week I go in to help now, I spend at least 15 extra minutes on my hair and makeup.  All because of that little twerp.  Of course, the whole time I'm blow drying, I'm always thinking about that little girl and how I wish she'd choke on a fruit roll up or at least have hairy toes as an adult, but still.  Kindergartners deal low blows, man.  They know how to get what they want.

Anyway, back to my story.

Mr. C defended the tie by making the valid point that it was 100% J's work, which I did not have an argument for other than the fact that I knew how to make it J's work and make it more fabulous too.  So we dropped it and when he left for work the next morning, I undid the tie so that J and I could start fresh.  This is what we came up with:

You're probably thinking that it doesn't look like much, and you'd be mostly right. We did however, just dress it up a little.  We put some Easter grass on the bottom to make the nest.  We created a decorative egg out of construction paper.  J painted his Easter Bunny yellow with black spots, which really made it look like an Easter Cheetah, but whatever.  It's his work right?  I held my tongue.

We get to the Easter Parade. J has his fancy tie on. The girls, just as they did 2 years ago, are all trying to magnificently outdo each other in their fancy hats. And the boys? Most of them have simply colored their tie.

No glue.

No glitter.

No fabric.

No fuss.

I can't win. Not only that, but I realized had come right back around to re-learn the lesson I had thought I learned with PG.  That comment I made earlier about not caring for the competition factor?  Big steamily pile of doo, that statement apparently was.  For PG, it was about the fun of making the bonnet and being in the parade.  For J, it was about the fun of making the tie and being in the parade. For me, it was about worrying that my children would suffer public humiliation because of their mother's limited artistic vision and ability.  The kids were right.  It's about the fun, and once again this mama was a big, giant, fun sucker.  

Let's hope by the time Roo hits Kinder, the lesson will stick.  Third time's a charm.

Happy Easter, everyone!  Am I the only one who thinks that whoever came up with the idea of celebrating Jesus' sacrifice with chocolate bunnies and Peeps was a genius?  Seriously.  Thank you, Jesus.  And thank you Easter Bunny.


Bawk, Bawk!