I 100% agree.

A tiny excerpt from an overall great post you should go read on giving up the “list”. Whether it be officially a bucket list or just a “things I want to do before x” list. Or a “I won’t have done all the things I want to do if I don’t do these things” list. [SPOILER: WE WILL ALL DIE WITHOUT HAVING DONE ALL THE THINGS WE WANT TO DO! Srsly.]

You can’t know what will shape you, make you, save you, break you. Your heart cannot be cauterized on command. And in fact, it’s braver to see that you are imperfect, and be okay with it, and go forward anyway. Tiptoe past the ancient walls. Roar down the unmarked path through the endless field. See what you find.

Sure, some things you have to save for. “Travel to X in the next two years” may be a case of “reminder that I need to not throw $$ down the drain so I can afford this trip I’d like to take” [which in reality you’d like to take now, not then]. I’m not saying don’t have things you’d like to do. But the idea of this list that you need to accomplish by X time (or, in the bucket case, BEFORE DEATH), that setting up of a goal that you will most likely fail at leastpartially…and then be judged by yourself on?

I believe in the now. Do what you want to do. Do it as close to when you want to do it as you can. Don’t waste all your time planning for that mystery “one day” that will never arrive.
Live today.

A conversation.

C: Where’d you get that skillet?
Me: At that store that’s exactly like Linens ‘n’ Things, but the other one.
T: Skillets ‘n’ Things?!
Me: Uh no. You know…
C: Ha! No, I know, it’s called…
T: LINENS ‘N’ SKILLETS ?!?!
[queue hysterical laughter]

David Sedaris on the “Undecided” Voters.

To put them in perspective, I think of being on an airplane. The flight attendant comes down the aisle with her food cart and, eventually, parks it beside my seat. “Can I interest you in the chicken?” she asks. “Or would you prefer the platter of shit with bits of broken glass in it?”

To be undecided in this election is to pause for a moment and then ask how the chicken is cooked.

I mean, really, what’s to be confused about?

[Link via Three Imaginary Girls, via Slog via The New Yorker]