I don't. As soon as you remind me that I'm going to die, I feel like: What's the point of spending my precious and dwindling time trying to pack up a storehouse of memory that will be entirely obliterated? The mind is not a museum or a library to be curated and preserved. I feel inspired more than ever to reject a phony sense of obligation and live for the day.
But if you feel bullied by these 100-things-to-read/see/do-before-you-die lists, read this and this.