November 4, 2026
I have strokes of genius. I do. I really do. Says the same girl who believes in God’s miracles, magic and the power of the Two of Cups tarot card.
I say that in jest, of course, but every once in a while, a good idea comes to me that I simply cannot shake. It follows me around like static cling on polyester pants. No matter how much I try to outrun it, it won’t leave until I take real action. And just like in a clothes dryer, it almost always happens in the same place.
Every morning, religiously, I meditate. At approximately 6:30 a.m., dressed head to toe in a hooded sweatshirt, pajama pants and socks (always socks), I shuffle into the bathroom and begin waking up. Wearing those same socks, which I deem “hugs for your feet,” I carefully slide down the hardwood steps, toe first, slinking my way to the kitchen. I pour cup number one-of-three from the coffee pot I prepared the night before, and two-of-my-four dogs are already at my feet. They launch into pirouettes and frantic tail wags, vying for my attention and a treat. This ritual for them is just as satisfying as my first sip of dark roast. The kitchen routine lasts all of three minutes before I gather my phone, favorite weighted blanket and steaming, hot best friend and settle into my meditation chair. I sit cross-legged, elbows on my knees, cup in my hands and eyes closed. Coffee is my meditation home base.
For the first fifteen minutes, my mind is everywhere. Exhaustion fistfights with my urgent need to check emails and social accounts, while my body struggles not to fall back asleep. Eventually, my brain begins to settle and relax into my skull. And just like that, the majestic shift begins. My mind leaves its theoretical trampoline park and starts to ascend. Suddenly, I’m floating. I can remain there for upwards of 45 minutes, no longer aware of my hands or feet, drifting through a perfectly balanced blanket of white space. It’s in that space that the big ideas tend to find me. Call it a lightning bolt, a thought or a flash of genius, but whatever it is, it follows me out of that chair and refuses to leave. That’s how “Fill Your Bucket” was born.
I’ve been making bucket lists for as long as I can remember. Early in my marriage, I designed an 11-by-17-inch sheet of paper with 100 numbered lines and hung it on our refrigerator. I filled every single one with something I wanted to accomplish in my lifetime. Entries ranged from the ambitious, “Bring my future children to Ireland someday,” to the ridiculous, “Try never to eat a pea.”
The philosophy was simple. If I was ever bored, I could look at the list, pick something and cross it off. Progress would be made, and my life would be completely fulfilled. Or so I thought. Over the years, my bucket list has grown up alongside me, and yes, the cross-outs are still satisfying. I’ve never really questioned the philosophy behind it. After all, it was my list, my adventures and my little collection of experiences waiting to happen.
Recently, I’ve started sharing bucket-list ideas with a close group of girlfriends. We’re all so different, and I found myself learning things about these women that years of friendship hadn’t revealed. I started making mental notes of their wishes, remembering little things they mentioned in passing. Occasionally, something would cross my path that reminded me of one of their lists, and I’d send a text or a picture. “Hey, didn’t you say you always wanted to do this?” And then we’d go about our days.
But during meditation this morning, something clicked. There’s a practice in meditation called Vipassana, or insight, where you observe your thoughts and experiences with a little more clarity. Apparently, somewhere between floating through my imaginary white space and achieving whatever level of enlightenment one can reach while still clutching a coffee cup, I had one of those moments. What if I didn’t just remind someone of a dream? What if I actually helped make it happen? And what if, after all these years, I’d been looking at this whole bucket-list business from only one side?
How often do we come across something and think, “I know someone who would love that,” or “That reminds me of so-and-so”? We already carry little pieces of other people’s dreams around with us, whether we realize it or not. But what if we started paying closer attention? What if we shared our bucket lists openly, not necessarily looking for someone to fulfill our wishes, but hoping we might discover something on theirs that we could?
I imagine there would be some wonderful surprises. Perhaps I’d find myself doing something completely out of character, visiting somewhere I never considered interesting, or spending an afternoon learning something I had absolutely no intention of learning. All because it meant something to someone else. And who’s to say I wouldn’t walk away feeling just as fulfilled as they did? Maybe even more so.
That might be the part I find most intriguing. For years, I’ve measured my bucket list by the experiences I’ve collected and the lines I’ve crossed off. But what if someone else’s experiences could become part of my own? What if the very act of helping someone fulfill a wish opened a door I didn’t even know existed?
I don’t know exactly where this idea will take me, and for once, that’s part of the appeal. I have a few wishes tucked away that belong to people I love, and I’m curious to see what happens when I stop simply remembering them and start doing something about them.
I suppose there’s only one way to find out.
And something tells me I’m going to need a bigger bucket.
-aj
