Kicking the Bucket List
In Praise of Serendipity
Many blogs and websites now showcase bucket lists. They’re as important to the modern traveler as his smartphone. But is this a good thing? Last week, Farwell weighed up the bucket list’s destructive potential. And this week? With a little help from the princes of Serendip, he’s digging deeper.
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by Farwell Forrest | February 2, 2018
Originally published in somewhat different form on July 18, 2017
Bucket lists are all the rage these days, touted by legions of bloggers and countless chambers of commerce. The former are probably in the game for the notoriety: “Hey, guys, I just got back from checking out the seals on Elephant Island. That was Number 125 on my list. Awesome!” The chambers of commerce aren’t into bragging rights, however. As you’d expect, they have their eyes fixed firmly on the bottom line, and any list of must‑see attractions is tailor‑made to lure ever larger flocks of sheep to the shearing pen.
What’s not to like? Bucket lists bring clicks to bloggers who’d otherwise have nothing to say and tourist dollars to rural communities with little left to sell but scenery. So why am I not a fan? Well, there’s more to my antipathy than simple curmudgeonly contrariness. Bucket lists have several downsides. As I pointed out last week, they’re inherently destructive. A bucket list is a token to be shared, a way of adding to your Web cred. But publishing a bucket list is a little like chumming for sharks. It can easily trigger a feeding frenzy. And at a time when crowds of enthusiasts are already laying siege to many wild rivers and remote peaks, this is a very bad thing indeed. Back in the day, circumspect canoeists groaned when they learned that their favorite river or secret stream had found its way onto the pages of a guidebook. “That’ll bring people in by the goddamn horde,” they’d mutter darkly, echoing Colin Fletcher. Little did they know. The guidebook that caused them such anguish probably sold only a few thousand copies. Many sold even fewer; only a few sold more. But nowadays a blogger can reach ten times this number of readers with a single post — a thousand times more, if he puts a picture of his Labrador retriever at the top of the page.
The predictable result? Standing‑room‑only summits and dodge‑’em‑car drops. Then it’s “Step right up, guys and gals! Take a ticket and wait your turn. Don’t push. Don’t shove. And be sure to post a video of your adventure on your Facebook page!” In short, wilderness ain’t what it used to be. The days are long gone when a few hours spent earnestly studying a quad could pretty much guarantee that you’d be alone on a peak or have a stream all to yourself. Which is why — with the exception of a broad‑brush guide to Adirondack waters that we put together nearly 20 years ago (and immediately regretted having penned) — Tamia and I haven’t written any “where to go” pieces. We don’t want to add to the crowds already treading on each other’s toes in many of our favorite places, let alone advertise the few spots that haven’t yet gotten a mention in somebody’s blog.
OK. Bucket lists are agents of destruction. But is that the only bad thing about them? Nope. They have another, more insidious vice: They’re the enemy of serendipity.
What do I mean? Well, consider the “virtues” of the bucket list. It’s goal‑oriented and efficient. You won’t waste time wondering where to go next or what to do next. Freedive to the bottom of the Mariana Trench? Done that. Eat a fossil mammoth steak off gold plates in the Hermitage cafeteria? Old hat. Sail a Mirror dinghy across the Atlantic blindfolded? Leaving next Tuesday… It’s that simple. Just work your way down your list and tick each box as you come to it. Then you can die with a smile on your face. Of course, it’s really not that easy. For one thing, your list will grow longer when you see what your closest 10,000 Facebook friends have on their lists. You won’t want to miss out on anything, will you? No way! And you know what comes next. You’ll have to add their lists to your list.
So many bucket lists. So little time. It’s a recipe for a busy life. Make that a hectic life. Most of us already rush about from place to place in our everyday, workaday lives. The drive to work on potholed roads, often in heavy traffic. The sterile cubical that serves as our office, complete with the overflowing in‑box. The cold, efficient LED lighting in windowless rooms. The endless, tedious meetings. The overdue report (“Redraft and return ASAP! And where are the figures for last quarter?”). The nagging burble of the smartphone. The sarcastic e‑mail intended for a colleague that you cc’d to the boss by mistake. And then the drive home, over the same potholed roads, in the same heavy traffic, through a thunderstorm, only to find that the storm has taken out the power grid and your dinner has to be eaten cold, at a table lit by seven guttering birthday cake candles.
Every minute of every working day is allocated to a chore. We tick boxes from dawn to dusk. It sounds like fun, doesn’t it? What’s that? You say you don’t agree? Me, neither. And do you ever wonder why anyone would want to impose the same deadening structure on his days off? Me, too.
The answer, I suppose, is that we crave what is familiar. It’s a testament to the power of marketing. “How do we begin to covet, Clarice?” Hannibal Lecter asks agent‑in‑training Starling. But he doesn’t wait for her reply. He immediately answers his own question: “We begin by coveting what we see every day.” Exactly. And therein lies the power of the bucket list.
It is also its tragic flaw. Follow the list. Tick the box. Look straight ahead. Don’t look left. Don’t look right. Don’t question. Don’t hesitate. And certainly don’t stop. No, not for a single minute. March to the beat of the drummer, even if someone else is beating the drum. Tick, tick, tick, tick…
And what do we lose when we become slaves to our lists? The power of choice, for one thing. Once a destination or “experience” is on a list, it becomes a command. To omit it, to fail to march in step to the drummer’s beat, is simply that: to fail. And who wants to fail? No one.
That’s not all we lose, either. We lose the freedom to reap the rewards of serendipity. Every river trip, every coasting journey, every walk in the park offers endless opportunities to choose a different line, set a different course, or amble down a different path. And every trip gives us endless reasons to deviate from our planned itinerary. To change direction. To choose a new route. Or simply to stand and stare. Need some examples? Easy. Sighting a bird you’ve never seen before. Catching the last rays of the setting sun as they illuminate the tops of the tallest pines. Finding a trail leading who knows where, a trail that’s not on any of your maps. Recognizing a perfect eddy — an eddy that begs you to stay and play. Spotting an ideal campsite on a pocket beach, hours before you’d planned to stop for the day. I could go on, but why do I need to? I’m sure you can think of countless examples from your own trips.
Yet if your list rules your life, some or all of these once‑in‑a‑lifetime opportunities will have to be passed up. There are larger losses, too. Suppose that something on your list conflicts with something else, something newly discovered or just now stumbled upon? You can’t do both. And you won’t be coming back. You must choose between them. Do you spurn your new discovery in order to keep faith with the list? Or do you defy the list and follow the example of the princes of Serendip? A lost life opportunity or failure? Which is it to be?
It’s better by far not to be forced to choose. Better to leave the bucket list to those who are happiest when they’re working under the lash, those who fear freedom and cherish servitude. Those who need to tick boxes in order to feel fulfilled.
But we don’t know anyone like that, do we? Of course we don’t.
That’s the bucket list sorted. One more box ticked. But bucket lists aren’t the only fetters on free spirits. There’s also The Device — the little box that lets you hold the world in the palm of your hand. It’s great. No, it’s awesome. Totally. When we have our devices with us, we’re always connected. Always in the loop. In fact, our devices are absolutely essential to modern life. And they’re just about as life‑affirming as heroin. So next week I’ll be taking a close look at devices — and how they bid fair to ensure we’re never again tempted to “[folow] too much the … desyres of oure owne hearts.”
