I am aware that the term “pet peeve” is somewhat dated. I know it’s more hip to be “P.O.’ed” about a thing, to have “been there, done that” or to simply be “over it.”
For the record, let me just say that I am peeved, P.O.’ed, been there/done that and am totally over the whole concept of a “bucket list.” I hate it. I hate it almost as much as I hate when people say “No worries” in response to my “Thank you.” (I wasn’t worried. I was appreciative. The proper response is any variation of “You’re welcome, thank you” or “My pleasure.”) “No worries” and “bucket list” are two terms that, in my opinion, need to go the way of “winning” and “cray cray.”
“Bucket list” (I even groan while typing it) is a relatively new phrase that gained popularity after the debut of the movie by the same name. In “The Bucket List,” the unassuming and likeable Morgan Freeman and the rich and surly Jack Nicholson both receive a diagnosis of terminal lung cancer. They realize they must act on all of their dreams immediately given that they now have a (ahem) deadline. So they make a list of things they’ve always wanted to do and set out to accomplish them all.
To be clear, I’m not against goals. In fact, I love them. I love goals way more than I love hopes or dreams or even fantasies. And I’m all for people making a list of things they want to have and do and experience before they die, quiet modest things, big exciting things, improbably ridiculous and unlikely things that require more money or courage or creativity than anybody has ever had.
I have just such a list. Before I go I want to start an animal sanctuary, give a TED talk, hike a very long trail, see Siberia, run a soup restaurant, start a dog magazine, come up with a brilliant solution to the homeless pet problem, apologize to my first boyfriend, become fluent in Spanish and see how many Snickers bars I can eat in one sitting without doing bodily harm.