Solitary days meld as drops upon a windowpane

Solitary days meld as drops upon a windowpane
Running jagged, then halting, then running
Each day a gift of quietude and freedom;
Each night a solemn reminder.
Joyous solo hours
Stretch over a yawning canvas.
Yearning’s voice entices;
Thoughts lean toward another
But wide-stretched arms of sovereign choice are louder
And I fall grinning into their embrace.

Lives of Others

I had a conversation with one of my students today, about what we do in our spare time. Got me to thinking about my life and choices. Never have been much of a party person, and love to spend time quietly at home pottering, writing, working, music this n that. And then if I go out, it is to a movie, a theatre show a friend's house for tea. In my student's eyes, I guess that's the boring life of someone older. (Am I that much older? - I suppose I'm getting there) Only thing is I've been living that way since my early twenties. And I'm still not bored.
What is with our perception of other people's lives being so much more intriguing than our own? Ah perhaps they are. Seems to me we all fill our lives with so much activity, emphasis on doing doing doing. When do we find time for being?