My grandfather used to say that you can learn everything you need to know about a person by how they walk past a porch. Do they keep their head down, rushing toward some invisible finish line? Do they offer a quick, distracted wave? Or do they slow their step, look you in the eye, and offer a nod that says, "I see you, and I’m glad you’re here."

For half a century, this porch has been my classroom, my church, and my town hall. The curriculum is simple: sit still, pay attention, and listen more than you speak.

In a world that prizes speed and efficiency, the front porch is a radical act of resistance. It is a place where time is measured not in minutes, but in the slant of the afternoon sun and the rhythm of a rocking chair.

The Art of Being Available

We talk a lot about "quality time" these days, usually scheduled in fifteen-minute blocks on a shared calendar. But the porch teaches us the value of "quantity time"—of simply being available.

You can’t schedule a spontaneous conversation with a neighbor who’s walking their dog. You can’t put "watch the thunderstorm roll in" on your to-do list. These moments happen only when you create the space for them to happen.

Community is a Verb

From this vantage point, I’ve seen that community isn’t a noun; it’s a verb. It’s the act of noticing when Mrs. Gable’s newspaper is still in the driveway at noon. It’s the wave to the mail carrier. It’s the unspoken agreement that we are all in this together, sharing this same small patch of earth.

The porch bridges the gap between the private sanctuary of the home and the public square of the street. It is the middle ground where strangers become acquaintances, and acquaintances become friends.

Slow Down to Catch Up

People often tell me they don’t have time to sit. They have errands to run, emails to answer, lives to manage. I tell them that’s exactly why they need to sit.

When you’re moving at 60 miles per hour, everything is a blur. You miss the details. You miss the life that is happening right in front of you. The rocking chair forces you to find a different rhythm. It reminds you that you are a human being, not a human doing.

So, pull up a chair. The world will keep spinning whether you watch it or not. But I promise you, it looks a whole lot better from here.