The Porch Postscript

 Choosing less doesn’t make me less, it might even make me more. Last week I wrote about how Hustle Culture is a Thief and I asked the question - “why is it not ok to be content with less hustle and less busy in life?” Today I’m going to talk about myself and why I choose less. Here’s a bit of background. I’m a skilled admin with a ton of customer service experience. When I say ton, I’m not kidding I’ve been answering the phone for a business since I was about eight years old. My dad ran a business out of our home and there was only one phone line for everything. My skill set is becoming rare in this current cycle of employable people. In my current job, I was hired for this particular skill set, that comes with a side of take no shit. The door opened to me, has allowed me to choose how many hours I want to work, and has given me freedom I’ve never had before. This job also came with an expiration date I set myself. When I was hired I agreed to stay three years, at which point my h...

 Friendships are a lot like pants, you gotta try a copious amount of them to find the perfect ones. We’ve all been there, the dressing room for trying on new friends. It’s a work party, a social gathering, and maybe even the line at the post office. You gather a few bits of information from your interactions and agree this could be a great fit. You buy the pants so to speak. The thing with pants and friends is not all of them are gonna fit. Sometimes they're cuter in the dressing room than when you get them home, sometimes they shrink in the wash, sometimes they’re seasonal, and sometimes they fit perfectly and you can’t imagine life without them. There are those accidental friendships that grow organically, like my best friend that I’ve had for nearly three decades. We met in a bar, his friend thought I was cute. Would have never guessed he’d become the brother I didn’t need and I’d become the sister he never wanted, but here we are. This is the friendship that is akin to cozy leg...

 Why do I need a why? Why do I need to hustle anything? Why do we need to be so busy we can’t live a life? Yesterday in my Instagram feed I saw a reel with a quote that deeply resonated with me - Time isn’t a thief, our “hustle” culture is. Let that sink in. Go ahead, reread that. Those of us living in the US have been brainwashed into thinking our lives haven’t been validated if we aren’t constantly in a state of work, a state of hustle. According to Fobes, 765 million vacation days go unused, and around 52 percent report working while on paid leave. Americans, as a culture, work constantly and when we aren’t at work all we can talk about is work. I find it interesting that valuing your time off or having boundaries for your work is almost frowned upon. I also find it interesting how many people have developed the habitual answer of “We’re crazy busy you know how it is” when you ask them how they are. That answer assumes that everyone in your circle is also consumed by being busy ...

The Station On Old Highway 13 July 2008 “Fill ‘er up Joe” echoes in my ears, as I pass by on my bike. I wonder was it really full service back in its glory days? Would “Joe” really have pumped gas, checked the oil, and washed the windows, all while spouting town gossip? Mismatched boards cover the windows of the little white service station on Old Highway 13. There’s a for sale sign in front and a tarp covers what was most likely the garage door. White paint peels from the trim, but you can almost hear the ding of the service bell, as the next customer pulls in. The awning, still supported by two stone pillars, would have kept “Joe” dry, as he serviced your car in the Missouri spring rain. White gravel still paves the circular drive, in spite of the weeds that have begun to push their way through. Highway 13 may have a new route and “Joe” is no longer there to service your car, but the station remains, as a reminder that travelers once passed this way.

The world isn’t going to become a better place by blaming others. Change won't happen by screaming at others and making them apologize for being. Nor will it happen by tearing down neighborhoods, destroying businesses, and placing blame.  Nothing in life is free. Nothing in life is owed to any of us. We must go out and earn it, honestly. Not by beating down others to our level.  Not by destroying what isn’t ours. Not by hating an entire sect of people.  Hard work and honesty will take you much farther than hate and blame.  At some point, the blame game has to stop.  At some point, the accountability needs to start.  Only then will the change begin.   There is always going to be hate.  We will never all sit in a circle and sing kumbaya.  The human race just doesn't work that way.  There will always be someone with more than you and someone with less than you.  What you do with that knowledge and how you use it will determine whe...

by Stacy Petersen (written 23 July 2008) From the street, Three steps climb a small hillside, To a yard that is still mowed. The frail driveway, Worn by weather and time, Guides the way, To a garage, Rundown with neglect. Yet there is no house, That a family would have shared. No path to a front door, That could have been.   Not even a foundation,  To reflect where the home stood. Where did it go, The house that isn't there? Lost to flames, Claimed by a bulldozer's angry rage, Or was it the victim of a dream gone awry?

What exactly does that look like?  I'll be honest, I don't know.  For now possibly just more posting here.  Perhaps writing something to submit somewhere later on.  Feasibly some more short essay-style pieces.  If I'm truly honest, I don't know how long this desire will last. I've craved and reveled in writing since I was young.  I wrote stories on my electric typewriter in Junior High.  Later in High School, I took both a short story and a poetry class, neither of which ended up being what I imagined they would be.  I've submitted a few pieces to short story contests, but that never went anywhere.  Looking back, I'm sure it was because I was writing high school quality work to send into a magazine with adults submitting a much higher level of work to the same competitions. Later in my adult life, when we lived in Missouri, I was part of a writing group for a very short amount of time.  Just as I was starting to get back into writing...

Source - Pinterest Friendships are such a unique dynamic thing.  They come in all phases of our lives, are constantly evolving, ever growing and sometimes only last for a season.  At a certain point in your life, much like romance, age won't matter. I have friends that are 20 plus years older than me that I just click with.  Many of these are friendships that happened in unlikely ways but have bloomed into friendships I treasure dearly.  These are the friends that have no inhibitions and are totally the people I discuss those things no one else thinks is dinner conversations. Then there are the friends that are more than 20 years younger than me.  Several of these friendships started out almost in a mentorship way and with time grew into friendship built on common interests.  They're the friends that keep my heart young and challenge me to look at the world in new ways, the friends I push to be strong and grow their dreams.  Friends that...

I've been writing for years, like my entire life years, or at least since junior high.  I've written in starts and spurts.  I've had long dry spells, and I've had those moments of scribbling on any piece of paper I could find in my bag. For me, writing isn't about scribbling out the next great American novel.  It's about getting all the thoughts and ideas out of my head and onto paper.  If something creative comes from all the nonsense, then that's a bonus. I was never much of a journal keeper until a couple of years ago.  I took it on as a challenge for myself.  Somewhere to just get random stuff out of my head.  Looking back I wish I'd developed this habit years ago, but hindsight is always 20/20. The type of journal I keep could be referred to as a "commonplace book" or a "brain dump book" or even an "everything book."  I'm not a "dear diary" kind of person, those kinds of restrictions make me hyperv...

For Rent The baby came with the house. As we walked up the sidewalk, I saw him through the window lying in a crib. Summer wind breezed the yellow curtains, billowing them against railing sides. He lay watching the flow of the tapestry as it breathed in and out of the window and he reached to grasp the edge as it was inhaled against the wooden window frame, his expectant eyes peering at me  through the glass from inside the empty room. That was why I cried,  knowing we would never come again. You see, the baby came with the house.   ~ by Roxanne Fehlaicer I've had this in my collection for years, and unfortunately, I can't tell you where it came from.  I know it was a Wyoming Anthology of sorts, published quarterly and that I picked up an issue at a library book sale when I lived in Laramie years ago.  That's where the info stops.  I didn't write down the book name when I copied down the poem and I no longer have the book.

Start again.   Find your path.   Look beyond the now.   Learn to grow.   Trust your inner self.   Find courage.   Step away from comfortable.   Seek your own peace.   Be your own light.   Move past the fear.   Accept the compliments.   Be confident in your own skin.   Accept yourself.   Seek your heart's truth.  Find creative peace.   Build the path one stone at a time, remember Rome wasn't built in a day.   Who said that anyway?   Stop being someone's afterthought.   Build the success you desire.   Open your own doors.   Use your passion.   Learn to satisfy your personality.

Good morning.  Are you sitting down?  Do you have a good cup of coffee?  I hope so because this is gonna be a little long and maybe a little deep. I know it's been months since I wrote a post, and I'll be honest, I'm not gonna apologize.  I've been working on some personal growth. At the beginning of the year, I did something I've never done, I picked a phrase to lead me through the year - "Inward Acceptance."  When I picked this phrase I really didn't think it would impact my life that much.  I was wrong.  It's five months later and I'm in such a different place.  I've been exploring a lot of things, so of which are a bit more personal than I want to share here, but good things have happened and are continuing to happen. I dropped a lot of things and opened myself to my own talents and started telling the world I'm an artist.  This was a HUGE step for me.  I've spent several months drawing, painting and working on things, ...

How's the weather there?  The cold is starting to settle in.  It was below zero for a few days in a row.  Snow on the ground, cars plugged in, people nestled in cozy houses.  Winter has finally arrived in Alaska.  Today the wind has picked up and will blow away much of the powdery snow. The past couple of years we've had "mild" winters.  Temps dipping down to 20 or 30 below, but never staying there very long.  Limited snowfall, mostly of the dry powdery variety.  We haven't seen a really cold "traditional" winter since 2012 when we moved to Alaska. I'm pushing myself to take more winter photographs.  For help on this journey, I'm using the Capture Your 365 photo prompts.  Sharing my perspective of the world through the lens, any lens. This shot of a cabin I pass nearly every day, on my way to work.  I've played with a few editing effects, adding the border, the snow falling, and the focal blur, along with a little col...

Jefferson School - Missouri ( 28 July 2008) It’s vacant now; the school at the corner of Franklin and Orchard streets, but that morning as I stood, on what remained of the playground, the laughter of school days gone by could almost be heard. The blacktop has faded and the markings for hopscotch have paled with the sun, but the L shaped red brick building stands silent and alone. Of what once was a pair of swing sets, only poles remain, the framework from which swings once hung. Were the swings removed for safety or stolen by vandals, I do not know, but I can tell you no children play there now. Jefferson School - Missouri (28 July 2008) There is a chain looped through door handles, of a double door, on the south side of the school, locked by padlock. Signs remain telling visitors to STOP, Teachers lounge, go to the main entrance. Many window panes bare the scars of a vandal’s rock thrown. Spray paint mars the walls of the lower level on the north side. Blinds are draw...

Sunset on The Osage River - Missouri (08 July 2009) The river,  she dances with delight and turns for spite,  a superhighway,  for speedboats and floaters,  who troll for fish,  snaggers with their catch of spoonbill,  trotlines fill with catfish,  frogs croak and birds sing, nature is busy,  while the water rushes by. by SLMPetersen