If you want to know what’s happening in someone’s life, don’t look at their social media feed – look at their front porch.
The porch is a snapshot of who we are in real time, a place where life’s busy edges spill out for the world to see. It’s not curated or filtered. It’s the most honest view of how we’re really living.
Holiday decorations linger months after the celebration, their faded ribbons or deflated inflatables telling the story of good intentions met with real-life schedules. Chalk doodles scatter across the sidewalk, a testament to afternoons spent in imagination before the rain comes and washes them away. Bikes and scooters lie half-toppled in the grass, evidence of preteens who left in a rush for dinner, or who simply forgot in the urgency of being young and carefree.
The porch marks the changing of seasons. Wreaths and pumpkins give way to twinkling lights, which eventually make space for flower pots and hummingbird feeders. But it also quietly reflects the seasons of life. My own front porch, once framed with holiday garlands and cheerful decor, now holds baby toys – bright plastic stacking cups, a stroller parked and ready, a welcome mat worn down by countless trips carrying diaper bags and tiny shoes.
The porch is where we meet neighbors, where Amazon boxes pile up, where we sit on warm evenings to catch our breath, where kids run out the door with Popsicles melting in hand. It’s where the ordinary meets the meaningful without us even noticing.
In its clutter, charm, and constant change, the front porch holds the heartbeat of a home. It reminds us that life is not made of perfect moments, but of passing seasons and small, fleeting details – chalk that fades, bikes that rust, toys that are eventually outgrown.
And maybe that’s the beauty of it: our porches are never finished, never flawless. They are simply alive, just like us.
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