I have a list of Things I Want to do Someday. I add and subtract Things as imagination strikes or as I get the opportunity to cross them off. Previously checked off Things have ranged from simple skill building, such as Learn How to Make Jam to the more risky or complex such as Smuggle Bibles into a Communist Country.
In some cases I have lucked upon the chance to cross Things off and in some cases a mixture of restlessness, boredom and a fear of complacency has urged me to pursue others.
I guess Things I Want to do Someday could be equated to a bucket list – with the exception that some of the Things I will never do. I will never get to challenge someone Rooster Cogburn style with a bitten out “Fill your hand, you son of a bitch!” and I’m ok with that. I will (likely) never get to be shipwrecked on a deserted island and have jaguars as pets. I will (definitely) never use my (totally non-existent) mad hacking skills to uncover a heinous government conspiracy and I’m quite doubtful that I will ever have to cauterize a buddy’s gunshot wound with nothing but a bottle of tequila, a hot clothing iron and a seatbelt. (Ok maybe a few of these are more a case of Things I Want to Have Done, rather than Do…)
And while I am at peace with the fact that I will never do some of the Things I Want to do Someday they will remain firmly on my list, just in case. That is what reading books is for after all.
On gloomy days like this I like to mentally visit a Thing I do actually hope to do someday – stride up to the departures desk, slap down a credit card and say “Gimme a seat on the next flight out!” – and then hope it’s somewhere interesting. In my imagination I’ve already packed. To be honest, in reality I could probably be out the door in 20 minutes or less. I imagine grabbing a Lonely Planet in the airport bookstore and highlighting sights to see while I sip ginger ale. Of course I imagine a lot of Things, but other Things for other days.