The Price of Dreams… and the Things We Tuck into Our Bucket Lists

The Death of Socrates by Jacques-Louis David

Some dreams come with a price tag. And I don’t mean the kind you can swipe a card for.

I’ve been thinking lately about the things I still want to do—the “before I die” stuff. You know, the kind of dreams that hang around for years and tug at you quietly when life gets too loud. Some are small, some completely outlandish, but all of them have one thing in common: they mean something to me.

Here’s a handful from my list:

Paragliding. I hate heights. I freeze up on balconies. But somehow, the idea of soaring through the skies, wind in my face, makes me want to rethink that fear. Like maybe flying could be a metaphor for freedom I haven't yet felt.

Going to Portugal. It’s more than just travel—it’s ancestral. There’s something in me that longs to stand on Portuguese soil, to feel a connection with a place I’ve never been but somehow know deep down.

Climbing the Himalayas. I’m not aiming for Everest, but just the thought of standing in the presence of those mountains—and maybe making it to a base camp—fills me with awe. It’s about touching the edge of something much greater than myself.

Building a cat sanctuary. Yes, a real one. At least two football fields in size. For domesticated cats, not the kind that could kill you with a swipe of their paw. Just a peaceful place for those furballs to roam, be loved, and be safe. Sounds ridiculous? Maybe. But it makes my heart ache in the best way.

Becoming a race car driver. I’m probably the most careful driver on the road, but there’s this thrill I’ve always imagined—racing around a track, completely in the zone. Will I ever do it? Who knows. But it’s still there on the list.

And then there’s one that isn’t exactly doable. Not in this lifetime, anyway.

Walking into a painting. I’d love to step into a canvas—like truly enter the world the artist created. To become part of the story, the scenery, the light. I imagine standing among the characters of a Renaissance or even a Neo Classical masterpiece, where every glance is deliberate and every fold of fabric tells a secret. Not just to see it, but to be it. To feel history whispering through oil and brushstroke.

The thing is, some bucket list items are achievable. Some feel more like daydreams. And maybe—just maybe—some are meant to stay in the bucket.

But here’s the deeper truth I’ve realized:

Our bucket lists aren’t just about ticking off experiences. They’re mirrors. They show us who we are when no one’s watching—our hopes, our fears, our longing to live more fully.

We may never do everything. Many of us never even start. Life gets in the way. Budgets, responsibilities, health… all the real-life stuff that pulls us back down to earth. But even writing these things down is a kind of resistance. A way of saying: I’m still here. I’m still dreaming. I still believe there’s more.

And maybe that’s the whole point.

So keep dreaming—even the wild ones. The world needs more people who believe in something just out of reach. That’s where the magic lives.

She's Searching by Lyia Meta from the debut album THIS IS LYIA