The Psychology of Doorways

Once upon a time, there stood a doorway leading into a room. Now the person standing just outside this doorway had no way of knowing what waited inside the room. It could be filled to the bursting point with wonderful, shiny, precious things. It might contain something dreadful, some terrible monster driven mad by darkness and bent upon destruction. Perhaps it was as empty as Al Capone's secret vault. Such is the psychology of doorways.

As a child with an overactive imagination, I developed my own unconscious fear of empty doorways. I would dream up creatures out of the darkness of the next room. They were large, hairy things with glowing green eyes and no souls. At any moment, one might step out of the darkness and into the doorway of my bedroom. It would snort and blow its acrid breath and pace back and forth before the doorway, just out of reach of the light. Sometimes, if there was light coming from the next room, it was worse. I could imagine only a backlit silhouette, faceless and merciless, waiting to grab me.

As and adult, these childish fears no longer loom in the darkness for me at night. However, I can't help but feel a touch of nervousness and a few butterflies in my stomach at the sight of an unfamiliar doorway. One never knows when a monster might be laying in wait in a quiet room before the light is turned on.

In order to defeat the unseen monster, one must battle the darkness of a doorway with light. It is generally accepted that most things scary and evil cannot abide the purity of light. It brightens colors and creeps into corners. The darkness is driven from a space with the simple flipping of switch.


Once upon a time, there stood a doorway leading to the outside. The person standing just inside the doorway had no way of knowing what waited in the world outside. A bright, blinding sun and world of brilliant colors might be only a step away. Perhaps it was gloomy and raining, the sun only a dim filtering of pale light through the clouds. It might be cool and breezy, with fluttering fall leaves and laughing children. Such is the psychology of doorways.

The concept of a doorway as a symbol of transition has become so cliched and dull that it barely seems worth discussion. However, I have discovered the merit of looking, not at the doorway itself, but at the area immediately inside and immediately outside the given opening. What shall come before and what shall come after this threshold? As I stand inside my own hallway every morning before I start my day, I take time to consider how my life will change once I step through the doorway leading outside. Inside, I am surrounded by an environment of my own creation. I am safe and comfortable and in control. Stepping outside, I enter a world where I must run, dodge and leap to keep up. The smooth hardwood of my hallway is replaced by cold concrete. My squishy armchair becomes the seat of a car. The doorway as a structure seems insignificant in relation to its surroundings.

Contemplating the doorway of a classroom, the environments seem somewhat reversed. The hallway outside is busy and loud, with chatting faculty standing dispersed along the way and students rushing to whatever destination they are headed for. Inside the room, the voices are lowered and intellectual. The teacher may be standing in the front lecturing, completely in control of the proceedings. Perhaps there is a lively, educated discussion in progress. The room is buzzing with sound, but still more controlled that the scuttling and scurrying taking place in the hallway. What would it mean to step through this doorway? This particular doorway is perhaps the difference between ignorance and education. In a broader sense, it may mean the transition from obscurity to epiphany.

On the other hand, education could be the protective shield between one's self and the monsters lurking in the darkness. A reasonable, logical mind obviously knows that no such monsters could possibly exist. However, at few points in my life have I ever been reasonable or logical. I find reason and logic dull and uninspiring. This leads me to the thought that perhaps education is the enemy of imagination. However, it is impossible to obtain education without imagination. Therefore, is imagination self-destructive by default?


Once upon a time, there was a doorway leading into an idea. Now, the person standing before this doorway had no way of knowing what awaited him through this doorway. It could be some groundbreaking earth-moving inspiration. Perhaps it would be crushing disappointment. Maybe it was a life changing revelation, a brilliant connection between conscious thought and tangible reality. Such is the psychology of doorways.

Doorways leading to ideas are sometimes more frightening that those leading to monsters. Ideas often appear harmless beforehand, and only through the consequences of the actions brought on by those ideas can one truly see how dangerous an idea can be. For example, progress is an idea that seems wonderful and brilliant, but is highly destructive when shown in the negative. We build hospitals and businesses and people become employed, health care improves and everyone is in a better mood because the cost of food and gas has gone down. However, as we build these grand cities and bring our ideas to fruition, the environment is destroyed and yet another species of animal has become extinct. All this is done in the name of progress. We sacrifice the soul of our planet for a sidewalk.

It is not to be said that these doorways are always dangerous things. Revelation on a personal scale can be a beautiful thing. What is art , but the realization of some wonderful inspiration - the fabrication of a revelation? Is revelation itself possible without imagination? It appears that revelation only comes about after imagination seems to have failed, for in order to have a revelation, one must be confounded or troubled by some matter. Revelation is a wonderful thing, relieving and inspiring after some period of difficulty or failed motivation. It is a release from the tedium of an unimaginative mind.


Once upon a time there was a doorway. Now I, standing in front of this doorway, have no way of knowing where this doorway will lead me. Shall I see wonderful things, or the terrible consequences of something from the past? Perhaps a monster sits waiting for me, but he only wants to ask for a cup of sugar. I must step through this doorway, or spend forever asking myself what I'm so afraid of, because eventually, whatever is on the other side will get tired of waiting and come through to find me. Such is the psychology of doorways.