I am lucky. There is little material want in my life. When I want something, I buy it. This fulfillment of material desires does not mean I’m wealthy. It mostly means I don’t want much. Still, I have everything I need. But there are a handful of things I want that I can’t have. They are silly things, really. Most people get through life without them. Most people don’t even want them. But I actually do want them:
*A hammock. I have wanted one since I first put my bottom in one 35 years ago when I moved to New York. A friend from the Philippines had one in her lower-east-side apartment. It was a big multicolored mesh beauty that disappeared when it was not in use and hung from one hook. At night, she strung it between two hooks and slept in it crosswise. Why can’t I have one? Apparently, this simple device used by primitive people all over the world is more complicated than it looks. Anchoring it securely in a space that accommodates its outstretched arc is, I’m told, not possible. Still, I want it.
*A mirrored wall. I was born without proprioception. I have no idea where I am in space or what I look like. It comes as a surprise to me that my posture is considered poor. I think I stand up straight. That’s because I never look in a mirror that shows the whole mess. The magnifier in the bathroom that reveals your blackheads in revolting detail doesn’t do head-to-toe. I know a mirrored wall would be obscene and ugly, and I wouldn’t use it except when I practice yoga. Still, I want it. A friend suggested I get one and hang a curtain over it so I wouldn’t have to see it. Other was not persuaded.
*An antigravity yoga swing. I know, it’s childish. But there is absolutely nothing—nothing—more thrilling than hanging upside down.