The Bucket List movie came out in 2007, starring venerated actors Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman as terminally ill men who embark on a road trip of a lifetime. I can’t remember whether I actually saw it or just think I did, but I clearly remember the conversation I had with my mom at the time.

She was 74 and could not have been more delighted that her strategy for living a full-bodied life was validated on the big screen. A world traveler, opera aficionada and daring bad ass, the only thing she liked better than crafting a new bucket list was acting upon it, which she continued to do with great enthusiasm for a good decade longer. Latin dancing in Cuba, swimming with turtles in the Galapagos … parasailing, Mom?  Check, check, check!

I was 48 at the time and I knew everything. Bucket lists? Meh.

Lazy, a path of least resistance. Those who wanted to experience a fully authentic life, I counseled my mother, should trust serendipity. Happenstance, chance, dumb luck – it’s the charmingly unexpected winds that blow us toward the richest and most memorable experiences. All we have to do is pay attention.

Mom, I owe you an apology.

Sure, serendipity is sweet. I’ve met lifelong friends in classrooms and at bus stops.

Once, my heart sunk when I opened a box of antique glasses gifted to me by a late aunt that had shattered en route from New York—until I found the exact duplicates at a thrift shop a few blocks from my house.

And my husband likes to remind me that I was his “lucky spin” in the prehistoric early days of internet dating.

But today I am not only a reformed bucket-list maker; I am a greedy one. I don’t make a bucket list. I make bucket lists.. I have a bucket list for restaurants I must try once. A list for the four…OK, three…ambitious trips that my bones will likely still allow before they say, “No more!”

I have a bucket list for skills that I still want to learn to make my life easier, although that list is shrinking along with my brain cells. But I can mow your lawn and likely can change the ink in your printer. I cannot say more than a few words in Spanish, however, so that one has been extricated from my bucket list with great humility. Adios, Babbel!

Most poignantly, I have a bucket list for friends whom I love who live all over the country. I want to see them —not on Zoom but IRL—so I’ve been traveling to hang out with them, hug them and reminisce. I hope I can repeat this lovely bucket list activity for a few more decades, but who knows?

So, what changed? Well, I did.

My embrace of the bucket list began when a sweet grocery store cashier asked me delicately, “Is anyone in your house over 65?” Uh-huh. Right.

And it continued with my nightly dives into Dr. Google to try to understand why every muscle feels so damn sore these days even though I’m just sitting at my desk most of the time (Hey, maybe I just answered that one).

The truth is I’m getting old…er. The years ahead are far fewer than they were for my smarmy 48-year-old self.

So, I owe my mom an apology. I plan to act upon it the next time I sit with her in the peaceful cemetery surrounded by trees and facing the mountains where she lays, alongside my late dad, satisfying her tender final bucket list wish.

Until then, I’ll add one more bucket. This one is a list of ways to be a better human being:

• Embrace serendipity but don’t rely too much on it.
• And say you’re sorry when you need to, especially to your parents even if you do qualify for the senior discount.

Check, check, check.

Gail Rosenblum last wrote for Minnesota Good Age about the “Grief Birthday.”