bucket lists they come dressed in good intention, yet they’ve always whispered of death, simply with better PR. a tidy way to suspend dreams in bullet point format within the ledger of future longings, stored in the margins of a life already in motion, often waiting their turn to be settled in the “someday, maybe...” column. bucket lists… under pressure, become fucket lists – “fucket, I’m not getting younger.” “fucket, let’s quit the job.” “fucket, book the flight.” “fucket, it’s now or never.” sure, that version has fire. but also, the scent of panic. like scarcity, dressed up as spontaneity, or like joy, under pressure. it’s true, time is a zero-sum game, finite. but timing? timing is a dance – fluid, abundant. generous to those who move, and are willing to collaborate with it. bucket lists don’t move. they wait. they sit. they age. but life – life wants motion. a phrase with a pulse, something alive in our natural language. something that propels, rather than waits. something like: “you know what would be cool…” (ykwwbc) that’s the shift. right there. that’s the opening. ykwwbc: learning salsa for a month in Cali… ykwwbc: cooking over fire with Mallman in Patagonia… ykwwbc: a conversation over coffee with Tim Ferriss… (that’s two were’s, and a would) notice: no urgency. no timeline. just an invitation towards possibility encapsulated in direction. try this on— stand before the mirror and say: “seeing the northern lights is on my bucket list.” feel that? now shake it off. now try this— “you know what would be cool… going to see the northern lights.” feel a difference? one drags, the other flies. one feels territorial, the other makes you want to grab a friend and say “wanna come?” one sounds like a contract with time, the other, an invitation to more living. so maybe, instead of waiting to live, life becomes a series of little sparks, tiny doors, a trail of ykwwbc’s.
i need YOUR help…
g’day g’day, friends—
I need a hand.
Between May 19th and 30th, my dad and I are setting out on a 7–10 day trip to Japan. An inaugural father-son adventure. A rare window of time. A chance to sit across from each other, swap stories, and start building something he’s been meaning to write—a book on life and business from his point of view, before the ink dries out.
But this idea wasn’t born on a mountaintop or during some midlife breakthrough.
Its raison d’être spawned from a conversation with my grandmother (I feel very luck she’s still alive).
Last May, I asked her:
“Anywhere in the world you never got to go?”
Without hesitation, she lit up.
“Greece. Your grandfather and I always wanted to go. The food, the sunsets… and I always wanted to ride a donkey up a hill. Do they still do that?”
Me: “For you, yes.”
Now, she’s 89. Which means getting her to Greece would require a family-wide permission slip acknowledging the trip could very well be one-way. Grim? Maybe. But also kind of the point.
It’s easy for me to say as I’d rather go living out my days, than letting the days go — but that’s just me.
That convo stuck with me.
Made me think—why wait?
I don’t want to be sitting across from my parents in twenty years hearing them say,
“I always wanted to…”
So I called my dad. Pitched him a trip. Something intentional. Something with some soul.
You. Me. One week. Adventure. Capturing stories.
He was in.
But when I asked what he wanted to do, the line went quiet. He began to abdicate his dreaming to me.
He asked me what i wanted to do and I told him that he’s closer to the end than I am, and statistically speaking my dreamtime left is greater than his.
“I don’t really dream like that,” he said.
So I told him to go on a dreamwalk. Made it up. Felt right. No phone. No plan. 40 minutes. Enough time to let the “have to’s” leak out of the brain and the “get to’s” enter the soul. Just walk and wait for a whisper of something that says, you know what’d be cool…?
He came back with: Japan.
Now, I love Japan. Been there. Barely scratched the surface. But I had to ask:
“Why Japan?”
Dad:
It’s close to Singapore (where he will be beforehand).
The dollar’s strong.
Classic Papa Maize dreaming in currency strength and flight paths. That’s about right.
Practical. Measured. Safe. He’s a salt-and-pepper kind of guy. Mostly pepper. Reliable. Knows the numbers. Wears a good watch. Thinks in Plan B’s.
Total opposite to my mother. She’s the other end of the spice rack. Paprika. Cajun seasoning. Maybe even a little wasabi on the weekends. Emotion-forward, joy-first, always leaning into the moment with a spark in her eye that says, why not?
Me: “So you’re telling me you dreamed in risk parameters, marginalizing the dream before you dreamed?”
He reminded me he doesn’t dream like that.
Me: “Sure, me too at times, I’m cut from your cloth, but I bet there are desires and ideas inside that soul of yours that have been fossilized under the inertia of daily life and perceived duties.”
We weren’t getting anywhere at the juncture of my stubbornness and his “je ne sais pas…”
Instead of stressing him into another nightmare, I figure best to apply the anesthesia, shake it up and bring the dream to him against his will.
Get him in the deep end. Outside the usual. Something that cracks open wonder, not just comfort.
That’s where YOU come in.
I’m looking for dreamputs—inputs to build a trip with heartbeat and adventure. Stuff that sticks. Stuff that wakes something up.
Could be:
Nature (hikes, hot springs, waterfalls, temples)
Craft (bonsai, blades, tea ceremony, calligraphy)
Food & sake (rural gems or city secrets)
Local guides who can unlock a corner of the culture
The mission? Take a man who’s lived a full life of plans, and give him a few days of not knowing what’s next—but loving it. A stretch of time with great food, deep talk, and maybe something unexpected stirring inside.
If something comes to mind, here’s what I need:
What it is (experience, spot, meal, etc.)
Link to it
Location (Google Maps, if you’ve got it)
If nothing comes to mind, but a someone comes to mind who knows a bit about Japan, please make that intro.
No limits. We’ll figure out the rest. I’m just looking for sparks.
To make it easy, click here and send me an email or drop a comment below with your recommendations.
In the meantime, my father’s homework is to read The Alchemist and Dad, I Want to Hear Your Story (thanks to a good friend).
And mother… don’t think you’re off the hook. Your dream’s next in line.
Let’s go find it.
— Juan (Jon)
You are a good son