My Imaginary Porch

I, like everyone, have a long list of things I really want in life. Like most people's, the things on my list are generally of the less tangible, less consumable variety (lasting, meaningful relationships, acceptance by my peers, degrees, undescribable beauty, etc.--let's be honest, the list is simply my "if I were as perfect as I think I should be, this is what my life would look like" checklist to perfection), but a few of are more tangible.

For example, I'd like a Range Rover and pretty nightstands and a personal hairstylist to make me look indescribably beautiful. But, the one thing I've always really, really fancied was a big front porch with flower boxes, a slatted swing, and a couple of rocking chairs. From that porch, I'd tell story after story and laugh with my most treasured friends as I maintained lasting, meaningful relationships and watched beautiful children dance across the perfectly manicured yard.

Today, though, I live in a perfectly ordinary two bedroom apartment with my brother. We have a balcony and I have a double rocker (that I desperately need to paint) that I can sit on and view a tangled forest of trees. It's nice enough (really it is), but it's not my dream.

I have friends (some with whom I have built lasting, meaningful relationships), but I seldom spend time laughing and telling story after story to them since many of them live in other places and all of them have their own real lives to deal with, which kind of gets in the way when it comes to sitting and chatting for too long. So, until I can retire and enjoy long hours everyday on my idyllic porch, I want to tell my stories from this, my imaginary porch.