doorways

Go in and out the window,
Go in and out the window,
Go in and out the window,
As we have done before.
- traditional children's song



I never like it when I walk up to an automatic door and it doesn't open right away, making me pause in my stride to avoid smacking into it face-first. The pause is only for a fraction of a moment, but it unnerves me to have to wait for something to move so close in front of my face. I don't like having to reign in my momentum like that; I feel briefly nervous, as though something deep inside me wonders if the door will actually open for me at all, like it has a will of it's own, or as if it might decide to close before I'm fully through it.

I've never been a fan of revolving doors. I always feel that I have to time it just right when I step through, and keep up just the right pace to avoid being hit on my heels or stubbing my toes. Step through the doorway quickly and don't get stuck going around again.

Those gate things at baseball parks and other ticket booths? The things with the three metal rods that you have to step up to and push against, making it rotate so you can get on the other side of it? Momentary imprisonment.

My last pet-peeve with doorways is this: knocking or ringing a doorbell and then just standing there waiting ... waiting ... When will the door open, if it will at all? Will the people on the other side of the door be happy to see me, or not? I feel just a touch of nervousness as I wait for a door to open. You never know exactly what is waiting on the other side, if it ever even opens at all. I stand in the cold or the heat and the uncertainty, wondering.

Yet, as frustrating or nerve-wracking or silly as any door is, they have to be passed through. I can't avoid doorways and just go through windows. I find myself at a doorway because something compelled me to go up to it and attempt to enter through it. Something is on the other side that is worth any trivial, personal feelings. I'm not afraid of doorways by any means. I can still conjure up memories of being a child and being fascinated by automatic doors and revolving doors. They were highly interesting, if not magical. Of course there's a difference between going through a doorway while holding someone's hand and going through it alone. But both are good and both are right. Everything has it's time and place. Besides, there's a beauty in the mystery of not knowing what's on the other side, and that compels me forward as much or more than anything. So: doorways of all shapes and sizes, like a proverbial Alice In Wonderland, here I come. Come and go and twist and shout and see what's waiting on the other side.