Center of Gravity

Spring is here—feverish, restless, unbound. Seeds long-sown grow fast and raw; the air is humid with pollen and sap. The days stretch, the flowers bloom, and I lie in the grass, rotting sweetly.

A friend called me the other day and asked if I wanted to splurge on anything post-marathon. I thought about it and realized that my shopping cart’s been empty; I haven’t wanted a new thing in ages. But then, the shadow: I am not without want. What I desire is experiential, intangible—like chasing a sound in the forest. Still, I run. Spring is for wanting. Here is what I want.

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Clothing, for me, is usually an elaboration—my appearance as an extension of an ideal. Not this time. This season I want simplicity. To look like myself without forethought. Enough is changing already, I don’t need my closet to be a riddle. I want comfort with shape, color with subtlety. Reliable daily accessories. Magic in the form of consistency.

I want to be outside. I have a tent that’s been collecting dust for a year. I bought it for solo-camping at Coachella, but I blinked and somehow ended up with a 12-person group and a B&B. Classic Avi. This time, I want to put it to good use. You’ll find me in the mountains, tent open to the sun, alone with the quiet.

I want to move, but gently. My leg’s still healing, so running is off the menu. That said, walking is apparently all the rage. The other day I gave it a try. It feels more like arriving than chasing. There’s a beautiful path by Joey’s place—I think I’ll make some playlists and let Spring carry me forward.

A vision: Cottage cheese on crackers with a sprinkle of salt and pepper. A hearty slice of turkey. Then, like a pile of jewels, fresh fruit. I want the crunch, the sweetness, the luxury — but more than anything, I want the ritual. I’m always hot and hungry when I get home from work; even the simple tasks become a pain. A daily gift — just for me — might be enough to change the shape of my evenings.

But beauty alone won’t cut it. I crave the grotesque. Unnatural growth, altered selves, the hum of wrongness: elements of rarefied spring horror. Daylight exposes truth with an even hand, and I want to see all of it in films like Annihilation, Vivarium, and Pan’s Labyrinth. The nightmares have been relentless, but I don’t want them to stop. Sometimes leaning in is the only way through.

~

Spring is for wanting. It’s also for change. The things I want will change too. Still, there’s beauty in striving. If I don’t find what I’m seeking, it won’t be for lack of trying. The sun’s coming out. It’s time to see the light.