The perfect porch.

This afternoon I went to visit a donor at his home thirty or so miles away from the performing arts center.

It was a beautiful day and my route took me around one of the biggest lakes in the region, so I kept catching glimpses of shimmering water.

I was feeling pretty content, listening to the radio with the sun streaming through the windshield, when I came to a small community of cabins nestled around a secluded cove.

One of the cabins had front porch stretching across its entire facade, facing the lake. Sitting in a comfortable looking chair on that porch was a man, typing on a laptop computer.

Suddenly overwhelming longing and melancholy swept over me. My heart ached.

I don’t mean to sound melodramatic. There’s just no other way to describe it.

I wanted nothing more than to spend an afternoon, a week, a month or, hell, the rest of my life on the porch of a waterfront cottage.

There’s no pressure on that front porch, no stress, no demands on your time. There’s nothing else you “should” be doing. No one there to bother you.

You can read, write, nap. The water is at your feet so you can go for a swim, or a walk on the beach.

And because you have all the time in the world, you don’t have to cram everything into one or two days. If you just want to look at a magazine, you don’t have to worry whether or not you can fit it into your schedule. There’s always tomorrow for the other stuff.

Some people would find it tedious. And who knows, maybe I would get sick of it eventually but I wouldn’t mind seeing how long it took before I grew bored.

For all I know the man on the porch was working, feeling as anxious and worn out as he would feel if he were in an office with fluorescent lighting and constantly ringing telephones.

But the scene made me think of a life of leisure. Of a long, hot summers and uninterrupted days of quiet and solitude.

I almost stopped and asked if he would mind if I joined him for an hour or two. Just to get a taste of what it’s like.

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