The "Still Haven't" List meets the "To-Do List"
My wife has never eaten at Taco Bell. Never. And at this point, she really can't. Break a decades-long string? Not her. She's also never seen "Titanic." Again, at this point, she really can't. It has become something of a badge of honor that she alone among millions has not seen the biggest movie of all time until James Cameron topped himself with "Avatar," which she also won't see. Lest I make my sweet, cherished spouse sound weird -- she's not, not even quirky, just... definite.
I know where she's coming from. Up until a snow day this week, I'd never seen Groundhog Day. Seriously. ("I get it," exclaimed my youngest, who knows of my ambition to earn millions writing two-word movie reviews. "Everything RE-HAPPENS." Dang--she's good!)
That "can't believe I haven't" list nags. Whistling through fingers: honestly, this basic kid skill eludes me. Why should it? At any point in life, one can say, "Today's the day; no longer will I be the guy who can't whistle through his fingers," and do something about it. So, in the service of thoroughly researching the column, I visited the fonts of wisdom gushing from YouTube, WikiHow, eHow, et al. One site offered a six-step instruction, beginning with "1. Stick out your tongue." Immediately below, a Google ad served up a link to a possibly related topic that I also need to check out: "French Kiss 101. Learn how to kiss passionately!" Ah, how nourishing is the relentless pursuit of knowledge.
Commonplace pursuits such as whistling belong on the "can't believe I haven't" list. Its soul mate is the Bucket List of things you ought to complete before you die. These tend to fall into two categories: cultural enrichment, and unique or peak experiences.
The cultural list is endless, ever-growing: a million books to read, movies to watch, plays to attend. Surprisingly, I had never attended a live opera performance until Carthage College presented "The Magic Flute" last week, in a wonderful, accessible performance that delighted our entire family. A college English major, I must sheepishly admit that I'm still working on completing all of Shakespeare's plays. (Pretty strong on the tragedies, ok on comedies and romances, thin on the histories. Audiobooks, bail me out!) Reading the entire Bible front to back looms over me; terrific in conception, tough in execution. Plow through dietary restrictions, begats and so forth, and there is rich literature in addition to moral instruction. (www.e100challenge.com offers an entry point by way of 100 essential passages; a partial measure, but still worthwhile.)
Part of the problem is the Dilettante's Dilemma: wanting a little taste of everything, you have a full meal of none. No matter what book is on the nightstand today, there's a backlog behind it; no matter how many of this year's Oscar nominees you manage to see in the theater, there are decades of classics still in your Netflix queue. Personal lifetime reading lists jostle against friends' recommendations, elbowing past new releases by favorite authors, buried under stacks of newspapers and magazines. I recently gave over several weeks to two enormous volumes that were just good enough to keep me reading to reach the payoff for the time already invested, and just weak enough to make me nervous about the other things I wasn't reading as a result. Every morning I sip coffee from my "So many books, so little time" mug and bemoan the petty span of years we are given.
A "unique and peak experiences" list eludes me. Although I've often said I'd rather do things than acquire things, my list is poorly defined. One buddy recently revealed that he has embarked on a quest to stand on the tallest point in each of the fifty states. So far, he has tallied eight: impressive mountains in Oregon and Washington, and also Hawkeye Point in Iowa, elevation 1670 feet. OK, Iowa seems a little commonplace, and pretty much in his backyard, but still, that's one more state checked off the list.
Collectors and record seekers fall into a similar category. Longest fingernails? Longest pinball-playing marathon? Longest distance a person can spit a cricket? The record is held by a Wisconsinite. (By the way, the rules clearly state: "The cricket must remain intact, and an official must check the spat cricket for six legs, four wings, and two antenna before the spit can be counted.")
I don't quite get that urge. Imagine waking up one morning and thinking, "I have a calling -- a special calling -- to spit crickets." It would really put your life in perspective. Imagine the satisfaction of crossing it off your list: "Spit cricket 32 feet. Done!" Ah.
I know where she's coming from. Up until a snow day this week, I'd never seen Groundhog Day. Seriously. ("I get it," exclaimed my youngest, who knows of my ambition to earn millions writing two-word movie reviews. "Everything RE-HAPPENS." Dang--she's good!)
That "can't believe I haven't" list nags. Whistling through fingers: honestly, this basic kid skill eludes me. Why should it? At any point in life, one can say, "Today's the day; no longer will I be the guy who can't whistle through his fingers," and do something about it. So, in the service of thoroughly researching the column, I visited the fonts of wisdom gushing from YouTube, WikiHow, eHow, et al. One site offered a six-step instruction, beginning with "1. Stick out your tongue." Immediately below, a Google ad served up a link to a possibly related topic that I also need to check out: "French Kiss 101. Learn how to kiss passionately!" Ah, how nourishing is the relentless pursuit of knowledge.
Commonplace pursuits such as whistling belong on the "can't believe I haven't" list. Its soul mate is the Bucket List of things you ought to complete before you die. These tend to fall into two categories: cultural enrichment, and unique or peak experiences.
The cultural list is endless, ever-growing: a million books to read, movies to watch, plays to attend. Surprisingly, I had never attended a live opera performance until Carthage College presented "The Magic Flute" last week, in a wonderful, accessible performance that delighted our entire family. A college English major, I must sheepishly admit that I'm still working on completing all of Shakespeare's plays. (Pretty strong on the tragedies, ok on comedies and romances, thin on the histories. Audiobooks, bail me out!) Reading the entire Bible front to back looms over me; terrific in conception, tough in execution. Plow through dietary restrictions, begats and so forth, and there is rich literature in addition to moral instruction. (www.e100challenge.com offers an entry point by way of 100 essential passages; a partial measure, but still worthwhile.)
Part of the problem is the Dilettante's Dilemma: wanting a little taste of everything, you have a full meal of none. No matter what book is on the nightstand today, there's a backlog behind it; no matter how many of this year's Oscar nominees you manage to see in the theater, there are decades of classics still in your Netflix queue. Personal lifetime reading lists jostle against friends' recommendations, elbowing past new releases by favorite authors, buried under stacks of newspapers and magazines. I recently gave over several weeks to two enormous volumes that were just good enough to keep me reading to reach the payoff for the time already invested, and just weak enough to make me nervous about the other things I wasn't reading as a result. Every morning I sip coffee from my "So many books, so little time" mug and bemoan the petty span of years we are given.
A "unique and peak experiences" list eludes me. Although I've often said I'd rather do things than acquire things, my list is poorly defined. One buddy recently revealed that he has embarked on a quest to stand on the tallest point in each of the fifty states. So far, he has tallied eight: impressive mountains in Oregon and Washington, and also Hawkeye Point in Iowa, elevation 1670 feet. OK, Iowa seems a little commonplace, and pretty much in his backyard, but still, that's one more state checked off the list.
Collectors and record seekers fall into a similar category. Longest fingernails? Longest pinball-playing marathon? Longest distance a person can spit a cricket? The record is held by a Wisconsinite. (By the way, the rules clearly state: "The cricket must remain intact, and an official must check the spat cricket for six legs, four wings, and two antenna before the spit can be counted.")
I don't quite get that urge. Imagine waking up one morning and thinking, "I have a calling -- a special calling -- to spit crickets." It would really put your life in perspective. Imagine the satisfaction of crossing it off your list: "Spit cricket 32 feet. Done!" Ah.