The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places.~Psalm 16:6

Last week I sat with a group of women. The topic of bucket lists emerged. Most everyone spoke of magical places they wanted to visit--a desire to quench a thirst for adventure in fantastical locations that fueled their imaginations.

I had a different reaction. I didn't yearn to go anywhere. 

I thought, "I want to enjoy the spot I'm in now. To savor the parts of my life that seem like manna every day." I like to read the Bible and hear the dryer tumbling as I sit in my green chair in the study. I like listening to Pandora and humming a song I remember as a girl. I like spraying Dolce E Gabbana Light Blue on my wrists and inhaling the good smell. The small luxuries of existence are like a bucket list to me. To feel contentment, joyful even, where I am.

To anchor into the day and want no more, not wish for things to change, or for people to be nicer, or the rain to stop, or to be prettier. Rather to gently crack open the spine of a book, hear the rustling pages, smell the fragrance of paper and ink. Absorb the story, drink my coffee.

Not to mention that I've lived to an age I thought I may never see during the bleak days of cancer treatment. Such a cliché, yet "every day a gift." I will ever be grateful for eyelashes, that feeling of twirling black mascara over the fine hairs covering the edges of my eyelids. I didn't know to love them, until I had none. Another trope. "The little things in life." Are they really so little?

Perhaps attaining items on bucket lists is always possible, always available if we look. If we see. What if we merely pull away the veil of believing that those items on the list must take us somewhere else, somewhere exotic? What if the bucket list is within our grasp each day? Let us consider our current coordinates, our divine latitude, our beautiful longitude of right where we are.