When I first saw the Mona Lisa, a friend and I shuffled through a cluster of tourists on a crisp winter afternoon in the Louvre. We snapped photos, and we gazed at the painting as well as we could from behind the barriers that held us more than a body’s length away, peering through the thick layer of glass at the 2.5-foot-tall painting.

Then, not to agitate the dozens of spectators waiting in line behind us, we scuttled off. The whole ordeal took probably 60 seconds, not counting the many minutes we had already spent waiting in line. Of the things I’ve crossed off my bucket list, I’ll admit it wasn’t the most thrilling. But it was significant nonetheless.