Several years ago on one of our family vacations in Colorado, I had perhaps the most brilliant idea I've ever had. Actually, I think it was one of the kids who first made the suggestion, but this is my blog and I'm taking full credit for it. We were shopping in the town of Estes Park, following a harrowing drive over Trail Ridge Road ... one of the highest paved roads in the nation ... no guardrails, super high, lots of curves, no guardrails, no guardrails, no guardrails ... harrowing drive for sure. But back to the shopping ... I can't remember the name of the store we wandered into, but I do remember that it was like a Hallmark store on steroids. Besides all the super-cool cards, note pads and stationery, there was this huge wall with beautiful mahogany shelves that held row after row after row of journals ... soft, leather-bound journals. It was as I watched my children perusing first one journal and then another that I made the decision that I would purchase a journal for each of us. Visions of traditions and the leaving of legacies danced in my head as I told each of my kiddos to choose the journal they wanted to be their own. Now that I think about it, when we are all together on Sunday, I need to ask Matt, Brad and Meghann if they have or perhaps even still write in those leather-bound books I bought for them on that crisp, clear Colorado afternoon more than a decade ago.
We were tired that evening after our all-day adventure over the mountains and through the stores, and my three kiddos all fell asleep watching a movie on TV in the cozy living room of the condo where we were staying. I remember sitting in the recliner watching them ... the three of them all cuddled up on one couch together, sleeping peacefully. It was one of those mom moments I'll remember forever, the sight of the three people who mean more to me than anyone in the world as they slept the sleep of children who had played extra hard all day long. I decided that rather than waking them, I would just leave my kids on the couch ... I figured they would eventually wake up and make their way to their respective beds, and I knew they were exhausted. As I climbed into my bed for the night, I noticed my newly purchased journal resting on the nightstand where I had placed it when we returned to the condo. With the thoughts of my children snoozing away in the living room on the other side of the bedroom wall, I picked up a pen and opened the journal. The aroma of leather mixed with the scent of new, untouched paper wafted through the air, and I began to write. I didn't write a story or a poem or a recounting of the day I had spent with my kiddos. Nope ... I began my bucket list ... you know ... a list of all the things I'd like to do before I kick the bucket one day.
Last year when I decided that dying would be better than telling the truth about who I am, I pulled my journal off the bookshelf where it had rested for many, many years. I remember that day well ... I cried buckets ... yes, buckets ... as I read through my list along with some other entries I had written. I cried because I had only checked off a couple of items on the list ... I cried because I knew I wouldn't be checking off the ones that remained. I wrote what I thought would be my final entry to the pages within the leather-bound book. "I'm so sorry, so very sorry, but I just can't live this way anymore." I've since updated my bucket-kicking list in my journal a few times, and I look at it quite often now. Though there are things on my original list that I will never have the opportunity to accomplish, I think it's good ... and perhaps even necessary ... to remind myself how close I came last year to kicking my own bucket for good.
I've written a lot about my job in my posts, and since last fall, I've written a lot about the personal relationships I have with my co-workers. In an all-agency meeting today (a totally awesome meeting that ended with all of us watching a movie together in one of the coolest theaters in town), a couple of folks on our leadership team talked about transformation ... about becoming the best we can be. And though the presentation was about who we are as a company, it was so much more about who we are as people. I've thought a lot about what the senior vice presidents said this morning ... a whole, whole lot. I've thought a lot about the hugs I received from our two managing partners later in the day as I thanked them for their generosity, kindness, support and encouragement to me. I've thought a lot about the feeling of family that resonates among so many of us. I've thought a lot about the words of accountability spoken by a friend who stopped me as I attempted to scoot past her on my way out the door this evening. I've thought a lot about a lot of things today ... a whole, whole lot.
So here's what I think about buckets and lists. I think sometimes buckets have holes in them ... holes that cause all the water to leak out and leave the buckets all dried up on the inside. I think lists, especially the ones for bucket kicking, should be carefully considered and well thought out before they are written in ink. I think my bucket list should only be written in pencil so that when it needs to change ... when it needs to be transformed ... I can just erase the old and write the new. And those buckets with holes in them? I think they can be mended ... I think they can be mended with love.
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