Americans are quite comfortable about discussing our own mortality, but preferably when it’s "like in that movie," or involves all the cool death-defying things we think we can do before we, you know, die.

Not surprisingly, it was Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman acting like (funny) dying people that got us all – particularly us boomers -- to start feeling the imperative of writing lists of those things. Now the movie itself is all but forgotten, but still people are thinking and talking about their lists. If you’ve shared enough meals with a person, the Bucket List conversation is bound to come up.

You’ll hear about cross-country bicycle trips and volunteering in Africa and getting PhDs in art history by the age of 89.

“I’m thinking I’d like to see Antarctica. Israel,” I say. “Take a hike in every state. Learn Italian. Help even one homeless person get his life together…”

The list grows. Antarctica gets crossed out in favor of South Africa, I never sign up for Italian class and I start to think maybe it’s hubristic to imagine changing the life of a homeless person so what about just volunteering with the food bank again?

Suddenly I’m feeling incredibly guilty. Out of shape, selfish and unfulfilled, too. Plus, I don’t have the cash to visit every state, let alone travel clear across the world.

The damned bucket gets heavier and heavier in this way, so I push it out of my mind and sheepishly, inadequately, live my same old days, one after the next. These days are enjoyable, sure. My friendships are rich, I love my family, and live in a beautiful place. I do work I enjoy, just for the joy of doing it, and when someone needs my ear, a meal or spare change, I’m there.

 Still, that list isn’t getting any shorter. Life is.

Then last week I did something that put me even farther away from checking off one of those Things to Do Before I Die. I dropped out of a class, on the very first day. It was a worthwhile class, a challenging novel writer’s workshop with an instructor I admire.  The point of enrolling in the first place was to help me Finish My Novel, and that’s pretty high on the list. I’m almost done with the shitty first draft (writer Anne Lamott’s description of all first drafts), almost ready for people I respect to tell me as nicely as they can how bad it truly is. The class would’ve helped me get to that special place.

I dropped out, though, when it occurred to me I really don’t want to spend the summer doing homework and getting critiqued by people I don’t know and reading and critiquing other people’s first drafts, even if doing so would make mine better. After feeling guilty about this for a few seconds, a tremendous sense of liberation took hold. Instead of feeling the weight of something I should do, I was buoyed with the lightness of a thing I do not have to do.

I began to list some other things I don’t have to do, and was soon giggling in the giddy pleasure of creating a Hole in the Bucket List:

1.                     I may never make it to South Africa, but I don’t really have to. No one will suffer if I don’t.

2.                     Even better, I never have to go to Houston, Bakersfield or Sudan.

3.                     I never have to wear pantyhose or  (4) learn to make flaky pastry crust or (5) spend time at a corporate meeting about anything, anywhere.

6.             No algebra problems for me, ever again!

The list of things I don’t want to and will not do for as long as I live keeps growing. Instead of being overwhelming, though, it makes me feel empowered and lucky as can be.

 I can’t recommend this highly enough, boomers.  When everything on your bucket list seems out of reach and even the thought of it stresses you out, make yourself a Hole in the Bucket List. Put on it everything you choose not to, and don’t have to, do.

 Then spend a moment looking around, taking in the people and places and things you love, and breathe in satisfaction with it all. I’m pretty sure Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson would approve.